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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583801">The Red Daisies</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiskyWrites/pseuds/RiskyWrites'>RiskyWrites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Not) Another Stucky Big Bang 2020, 1930s, 1938 New York, Blind Date, Brought to you by popsicle, Buck Rogers is a real show, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gen, Howard is an idiot, Humor, Jarvis is a saint, M/M, NASBB2020, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Roommates, Slow Burn, Winnie is the best mom, and they were ROOMMATES</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:29:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>37,128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27583801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiskyWrites/pseuds/RiskyWrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1938 and Steve Rogers is an oblivious idiot. Having moved in with his best friend after Sarah’s death, he wasn’t prepared for how much space Bucky would take in his mind, or the way his heart flipflops when he’s around. A fun jaunt of mutual pining featuring the Barnes family, Howard Stark, Edwin Jarvis, and two very dumb boys not realizing they're in love with each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lunch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>  <br/>art by the amazing Espressosaur</p>
</div></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sky was so blue it felt surreal. Puffy white clouds hung in sharp contrast to the intensity of that deep blue. The sun warmed the stone steps and Steve let out a sigh, relaxing as he stretched his legs out out just a little more. He could stay like this all day, leaning back as he sat on the stone steps, staring up at the bright ceiling of sky above him and pondering how to transfer this exact memory to canvas. There was only one thing that could make this day even better.</p>
<p>“Sorry I’m late,” came the familiar voice, and Steve’s thoughts were jarred as he found himself suddenly and unceremoniously shoved up against the marble pilar. He grunted as Bucky pressed himself right up against him. </p>
<p>“Oof!” He grunted. “Hey -- there’s an entire flight and you wanna sit <em> on </em> me?” He snipped, trying to squirm to reclaim some of his original real estate.</p>
<p>“This is the most comfortable spot in all of Brooklyn,” Buck said as if that were an acceptable excuse, leaning back with one arm behind Steve. The young blond found himself resting against it for support even as he wriggled for breathing room. “Besides,” Bucky teased. “You like it.” </p>
<p>“Ya ever hear of ‘too much of a good thing’, Barnes?” Steve grumbled. Bucky just laughed, scooting enough to give him a few precious inches, but not giving up his close proximity. The smaller man shifted to get some space, and the moment he had settled in comfortably again, Bucky had stretched out so that their thighs were pressed alongside each other. Steve sighed. “What exactly do you have against the concept of personal space?” </p>
<p>“The concept? Nothin’ at all, great idea, everyone gets a bubble, everyone’s happy.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Steve said, whacking Bucky’s thigh with his knee. The offending leg moved for a moment, then fell right back against his own. “And in practice?”</p>
<p>“Like I said,” Buck said, leaning down to grin at him with a lazy, boyish smile that seemed to get him into as much trouble as it got him out of. “Best spot in all of Brooklyn.”</p>
<p>Steve Rogers glared at that grin, wanting so badly to be angry, but every time he looked into those pale blue eyes, staring out at him through thick lashes, just <em> daring </em> him to be upset, he found himself distracted. He <em> wanted </em> to be angry, but instead he found himself starting at pink lips and wondering for the twentieth time or so today what it would feel like to kiss them. That beautiful smirk was starting to fade, pursing into a slightly more concerned expression and Steve realized he had taken too long to react. </p>
<p>He coughed softly, reaching for the black metal lunchpail on the step below him. “So why <em> were </em> you late?” he asked, careful to keep any accusation out of his voice. </p>
<p>Bucky grumbled, leaning back along the steps and folding his hands behind his head as Steve unpacked their lunch. “Ah, you don’t wanna hear about it. Just Mr Burnett bein’ a damn slave driver again.” But he huffed, staring up at the sky. Steve could see the way his shoulders were tense, the way his breathing was shallow, like he couldn’t get a deep breath in, how that vein near his temple was starting to stand out, just a little bit. </p>
<p>He leaned over, pulling out the waxpaper wrapped sandwiches, glancing between them. He’d painted a red triplane on one, a raygun on the other. Pretending the distinction wasn’t important, he tossed the raygun sandwich onto Bucky’s stomach. “I wanna hear it. What’d that drunk jackass do this time?” He asked.</p>
<p>Bucky rested his hand on the food that had abruptly landed on him and tilted his head to get a better look at Steve, trying to determine if he really wanted to hear. Steve shifted where he sat, giving Bucky his full attention. If he were honest, Bucky was right. He didn’t really care about the minutia of his awful boss. Steve knew he was awful. But he also knew that Buck was a good man, one who wanted so badly to be a good man for <em> everyone </em>that he let each perceived failure sit in his breast. Steve had learned that if he didn’t get an outlet, a way to shake off the rust before it got too heavy, it would weigh down a soul meant to soar. He also knew that he wasn’t allowed to just go punch the jackass that hurt his friend’s feelings square in the jaw, but that problem was personal.</p>
<p>Bucky studied him, then sat back up, looking down at his bundle. He smiled at the raygun and carefully started to unwrap it. “Okay. Well. You know how they were hiring a few new guys to help with all the extra boats comin’ in?” He asked. </p>
<p>Steve nodded. He did know, and he felt a twinge of irritation, though it wasn’t directed at Bucky. He’d applied for a job there himself. Twice. And he’d been laughed right off the docks. Twice. He’d hoped he’d have been able to slip under the radar, get a few good paychecks coming in, take some of the burden off of Bucky’s shoulders. He hated struggling to keep a steady job, he hated seeing how tired Buck was every night when he came home, just trying to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. Trying to afford his medication when he inevitably got sick again. But Bucky was still talking, and he saw the familiar high pink coming into his cheeks, even and lovely like a glow as he ranted. He watched him speak as Steve lazily unwrapped his own sandwich, staring at the way his mouth moved, the beautiful shapes it formed. He wondered for the twenty-first time or so what it would be like to interrupt that rant with a kiss. He didn’t dare though.</p>
<p>“-- two dozen times, Stevie. I ain’t even exaggeratin’ you have any idea how many times that is?” He asked.</p>
<p>“Twice more than a dozen, I’d imagine, Buck.” He responded, deadpan. Bucky was carefully tearing the wax paper to separate the art from the rest of the wrapping. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>Buck glanced up, pausing in his story. “What? I wanna keep it.”</p>
<p>“It’s not worth keepin’, it’s just a little doodle.”</p>
<p>“Yeah well, it’s <em> my </em> doodle now and I’m keepin’ it. Now where was I?”</p>
<p>“Two dozen times.”</p>
<p>“Oh right right. So I told this idiot two dozen times, I told him.” Buck launched back into his rant, but Steve was only half listening. His eyes were on his hands, dirty from work, but so very delicate with how they folded his little painting. Once it was safe, he tucked it into his breast pocket and gave it a pat, as if making sure it was secure. </p>
<p>Twenty-two times. Or so.</p>
<p>“And so of course, idiot gets his thumbs ripped off.”</p>
<p>Steve was jolted violently back into the conversation and he paused. “...Wait I’m sorry, <em> what? </em>”</p>
<p>Bucky nodded, picking up his sandwich. He nudged Steve to eat. “Yup. Clean off. I warned him.”</p>
<p>“Buck, I gotta be honest. That ain’t where I thought this conversation was headed.”</p>
<p>“<em> I warned him. </em> Two dozen times, Stevie.”</p>
<p>“That’s like twenty four times, Buck.”</p>
<p>“Exactly!” Bucky said. He inspected his sandwich, picking which half he wanted first and lifting it to his mouth. It was thick with meat and cheese, the way Steve knew he liked it. He’d used up the last of their lunch meat, but no matter. He had to go to the store anyhow. There were still a few coins left in his pocket, he could stretch that until his next commission was finished.</p>
<p>There was a lull in the conversation as Bucky ate, and he finished unwrapping his own. It was much leaner, but he didn’t mind. Buck was the one who was busting his tail and risking his body. Buck needed it more. Steve grinned a little as he chewed, eyes immediately spotting the glint of yellow on the corner of Bucky’s mouth. He could just reach over to brush it off with his thumb. There’d be nothing questionable about that, it’d be just the most casual thing in the world. Just helping his buddy keep tidy, right?</p>
<p>“Hey -- hey what the fuck, Punk?” Bucky suddenly barked, and Steve’s brows shot up to his hairline. Had he spoken his thoughts aloud? But instead, Buck swatted at the sandwich in his lap. “What the shit, Rogers?” </p>
<p>Oh. “What?” Steve asked, trying to feign innocence. He felt his cheeks go hot as he looked down at his own sandwich, as if he’d just now noticed how different in size they were. “Oh. Well look at that. Looks like I got a little enthusiastic with one of em. Well, good thing you got it, huh?” He asked, shrugging it off.</p>
<p>“Oh yeah, and it was just dumb luck that you put the lion’s share in mine.”</p>
<p>“Buck, come on, you’re givin’ me too much credit. I made two sandwiches, I threw one to you at random.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh. And you just <em> happened </em> to give me the big one, and yours just <em> happened </em> to have the Red Baron on it. But it was totally random.”</p>
<p>The heat increased. “So I like the Red Baron, lay off, Buck.”</p>
<p>“He was a terror, Punk, just like you.” Bucky was leaning forward and snatched the uneaten half, swapping it with his own thicker half. “You gotta keep your strength up, don’t pull this bullshit with me, Rogers.”</p>
<p>“I ain’t been sick in like a month, <em> Barnes </em>--”</p>
<p>“Yeah, and I’d like to keep that streak goin’--”</p>
<p>“--But I ain’t the one who has to work where people get their thumbs ripped off, Bucky.”</p>
<p>“I’m not getting my thumbs ripped off any time soon, I intend to keep all body parts right where they are until the day I die. You’re gonna bury me with ten fingers and twelve toes.”</p>
<p>Steve giggled despite himself. “Is that what you do all day? Collect other people’s toes?”</p>
<p>“I’m allowed my hobbies, Stevie,” Bucky said with that charming grin. He swatted at him again. Steve had to look away, narrowly avoiding twenty three. But only barely. </p>
<p>“You’re pretty crap at it if you only got two extras.”</p>
<p>“Yeah well, if I start getting greedy, you’re gonna notice yours are missing.”</p>
<p>Steve felt himself curl his toes in his shoes, but he broke into a grin as he elbowed Bucky in the ribs. “You’re such a jerk.”</p>
<p>“I’m not the little punk trying to fatten me up for winter. God, let a man worry about his boyish figure, will ya?”</p>
<p>Steve stared down the stairs, watching the shadows of the clouds overhead as his smile softened. “...I’m just tryin’ to look out for ya, Buck…”</p>
<p>Bucky’s voice softened as well. “I know ya are, Stevie. And I love you for it.” He leaned against him gently and this time Steve didn’t struggle or squirm, he leaned right back into him. “Red Baron was still a terror.”</p>
<p>Steve laughed, throwing his head back. “Yeah… But he was <em> so cool, </em> Bucky…”</p>
<p>“If you say so,” Buck teased, settling into the rest of his food. Steve leaned down to take an apple out of the box, handing one up to him. Bucky snatched both, scrutinized them for a moment and then handed the shinier one down to Steve. Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t argue this time. He did lean just a little harder into him however. </p>
<p>They finished their food in silence, splitting a bottle of pop that Bucky opened with a neat trick with his pocket knife. They leaned on each other like a pair of soldiers against the world, and Steve realized that he hadn’t stopped grinning the whole time. The warmth that had risen in his chest hadn’t quelled, and he couldn’t attribute it all to the lovely day. </p>
<p>Eventually Bucky gave a satisfied sigh and shifted to pull his pocket watch from his trousers and flipped it open. “Ah, I gotta go. You gonna be alright gettin’ home?”</p>
<p>“Buck, people don’t get thumbs ripped off walkin’ home.”</p>
<p>“They might, Punk, you don’t know. And I don’t want you to be the first.” </p>
<p>Steve rolled his eyes, moving to crumple up his trash, but Bucky stopped him, taking the wrapper and carefully tearing out the triplane painting before he did. He folded it as it had done with the raygun and slipped it into his pocket. “They’re just doodles…”</p>
<p>“Quit sellin’ yourself short… I’ll be home in a few hours, Sunshine.” Bucky said as he rose, reaching down to ruffle his blond hair. Steve scoffed and looked up at him from under his palm. For a long moment, their eyes met, and Bucky held his gaze. Steve felt his heart flutter and his breath catch. And then he was gone, whistling as he practically danced his way down the marble stairs.</p>
<p>Twenty-three. He was sure of it this time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Afternoon Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An afternoon to himself sends Steve's mind to forbidden territory. But he has time though, right? It's still early, he has time!</p><p>...Right?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He remembered the sky being bluer than that, actually. But was it deeper or brighter? Bah, the hue was messing with him, or was it just the pigments that felt off? He’d mixed up the wrong blue, clearly. Ugh and he’d mixed just so much of it. Maybe once he started on the clouds it would be better. No, no he had to get the base right. The gradient was all off, where had the sun been again? Frustrated, he dropped his brush, shoving his hands into where his pockets should be, missing, resting them on his hips instead. With a mighty huff, he started pacing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, and should anyone ask, it was solely for the purpose of keeping the paint off of his clothes. Oil was hard to get out. Almost impossible, really. The fact that it was a nice warm day was a bonus. The fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about that boyish smirk or those pale eyes was irrelevant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he should start over. No, he’d already blocked his colors out, he’d just… fucked up the sky somehow. Steve growled, reaching to pull at his hair, streaking his cheekbone with blue as he did. How could he fuck up the sky? It was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sky</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’d been staring at it for quarter hour waiting on Buck to join him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Therein laid the problem. He couldn’t focus on how the sky had looked. His mind kept slipping to pale blue eyes, pink pouty lips. That damn smirk, and the way his teeth caught his lower lip when Bucky thought he was being cute. Steve sighed again, turning on his heel and stalking in the other direction, a tiny lion in a tinier, apartment-shaped cage. Bucky thought he was so damn cute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky was right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The distraction was driving him crazy. But he’d already tried to clear his head once and somehow that had just made his blood hotter. Steve paused his pacing, glancing at his bed, the blanket still messy from his brief nap. He hadn’t gotten any sleep. If anyone asked, he was just trying to avoid getting paint on his clothes. If anyone asked, he’d lie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head like a lion shaking out his mane and went to the small table. Their apartment was little. Cramped. It had been cramped before he’d moved in, and it had just gotten worse once his belongings were taking up the limited room. ‘Cozy’, Bucky had called it. ‘Homely’. Two beds, the small table with two chairs, the easel that Steve tried to keep out of the way, no matter how many times Buck kept dragging it back into the middle of the room. There was barely enough space for them sometimes. ‘Cozy’, Buck had insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cramped’ felt more honest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though, while he was being honest, he had to admit that the cramped space didn’t bother him. Not really. What bothered him was the sacrifice that Bucky was making, the sacrifices that Bucky always made for him. He worked long hours. He always insisted on taking the smaller halves, the duller apples, the thinner blankets. It didn’t seem to matter how quick Steve tried to get there, how sneaky he tried to be to make sure Bucky got his fair share. He always seemed to be one step ahead, and Steve was certain that given the chance, Buck would give his left arm if it meant that Steve wouldn’t have to go without for just one day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve scoffed again, picking up his pacing. Stupid Buck. Stupid, handsome, generous Buck. With his gorgeous icy eyes that seemed to soothe the heat in his soul at the same time they made the fire rage in his heart. Buck with the way he always sat so close to him, the way he played with his hair, found an excuse to pull or push or jostle him every time they were near. Stupid Buck with the way he made his heart flutter in his chest like it forgot how to beat. The way he made his head feel light, like all the blood was being redirected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped midstep, his back foot moving to join its partner. He glanced again at his bed, the blanket still messy. His eyes flit to the alarm clock on the shelf nearby. Buck would be getting off work any minute. He wouldn’t be alone in the apartment for much longer. And if he was still this twisted now, it was only going to get worse once they were in close quarters again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s canine worried his lip for a long moment. Slowly his gaze drifted over to Bucky’s bed, still messy from where he’d raced out the door that morning. Still dotted with the tangle of night clothes Buck had shed in a panic when he’d pushed his ‘five more minutes’ ten minutes too far. It was forbidden territory. His eyes went to the clock again, then the door then back to the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he seriously considering this?? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Christ, Rogers, it’s not enough that you were thinking about your roommate earlier? You’re not satisfied with rock bottom, you just have to make this hole deeper, don’t you? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn’t stop thinking about him, and the more the idea formed in his head, the hotter his skin felt, the more intense the prickling. And his thoughts were turning from rational to nearly feral as a wild hunger nibbled at him. Bucky was a hell of a man, he was sweet and caring and strong. He was honorable and every girl in New York wanted him, and for good reason. Even if Steve were a dame, he’d never be lucky enough to catch the eye of James Buchanan Barnes. So if he was already doomed then what did he have to lose? Why not just grab a shovel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One last glance at the clock and he felt his heart so loud in his ears he was sure the neighbors would complain about the pounding. He wasted no time crossing over the small room and slipping himself into the rumpled bedsheets, gathering up a bundle of nightshirt and bringing it to his face, breathing in deep the scent of sweat and sleep and everything about him that something deep and primitive in his mind understood but didn’t have words for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had time. It was Friday, after all. Friday meant drinks after work, maybe a last minute date with some gal. But if there was a gal, he would have at least heard about it by now. Still. Fridays meant he had time, and he allowed himself to savor the stolen moments in territory that didn’t belong to him. He savored the feel of sheets softened and worn by a body that wasn’t his. Blankets that held the scent and the sweat of skin he’d imagined pressed against his own. Steve turned his face into the pillow, breathing in deep and grinning a little to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Friday. He had time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun would be down before Bucky got home, smelling of cigarette smoke and whiskey and leaning on the door frame before walking in their apartment as if he just wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>savor</span>
  </em>
  <span> the last few sips of the day. Or maybe it was the first few sips of his evening he was enjoying. It was the same every time, and it made Steve’s heart race to think of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t realize that his hand had slid down his own body, hidden beneath the blanket that didn’t belong to him. It slipped under the waist of his shorts, and his fingers found himself aching for relief. He let out a low moan, careful to stay quiet. It wasn’t as if Bucky were any innocent. He’d been woken more than once to the soft sounds coming from this very bed, sounds of flesh in hand, of carefully controlled breathing, of single gasps and a tight moan, muffled in this very pillow. Bucky had tried so hard to be silent, but Steve had heard him anyhow. Did that mean he’d heard Steve as well?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned softly, his wrist moving a little faster, fingers a little tighter around himself, his eyes closed tight as he remembered those noises, those secret, private noises. The realization that he was probably thinking of some dame made him falter, but he shook his head as if the action could clear it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t think of that. Think of something else. Anything else.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was Friday. Bucky would come home a little tipsy, like he always did. He’d fling the door shut with his heel and stumble out of his shoes but his eyes would be locked on Steve like he had been his end goal all day. It didn’t matter where he was, at the easel or at the stove trying to get their dinner warmed, Bucky would find him and throw his arms around him from behind and let that whiskey breath wash over him as he hooked his chin on his shoulder. And Steve would plant his feet to help support him as he put more and more weight on him, trying to hide the grin and the warm blush of affection. As he tried to ignore the way those arms wrapped around him, dragging him backwards into Bucky’s chest as Bucky pressed his face into his neck and made a low, contented sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loved that sound. And he loved the warmth and power of those arms. His own breath was quickening, lost in memories and wishing for more. He was suddenly very eager for the next few hours to come. Sometimes when he felt Bucky murmur into his neck, he was certain he felt those soft lips kiss his skin. His hips bucked and a low moan of pleasure escaped his lips. He was so close. Strong arms holding him close, his nose nuzzling into the blond hair just above his ear. The rumble of his voice as he spoke as if it were some terrible secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re my favorite part of the day,” Bucky would say. And something inside him would melt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside he felt something tighten, and tighten, and tighten, the tension building and his breath catching in his chest. His heels dug into the mattress, his toes curling as something broke and the sweet release came. Steve’s back arched, his hips coming up off of the sheets, shoulders digging into the pillows as he heard himself gasp out loud. “Oh Buck!” He cried, warm waves of electricity running through his arms and legs, making his very spine tingle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rode the wave, eyes swimming, seeing flashes and bursts of stars in the early evening light, feeling his heart pound in his chest hard enough to make him shiver. Grinning softly, consumed by bliss, he let his face rest on the pillow for a moment, his grip slowly releasing on himself. Maybe tonight when he came home tipsy, he would see if he could taste those lips. Maybe later tonight he could --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-- the door rattled so hard in its frame he was sure it would crack. “Ow! Fuck.” Came the voice on the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie?” Bucky called. There was a fumble at the knob and he could hear the scrape of the key moving into the lock.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve didn’t realize he had moved until he was halfway across the room, stumbling for the bathroom, shoving himself into the tiny closet of a room and slamming the door shut just as the front door opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie? Where you at, we gotta go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Go? He looked at his own reflection for answers, but the panting, wild-eyed young man who looked back just looked equally confused. He could hear the heavy boot falls as Bucky crossed the room. “Stevie? Where you at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh -- Uh, bathroom Buck.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh -- oh look I hate to rush you but we gotta go or we’ll miss our ride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Ride?” There was cum on his shirt and he hoped that was where most of it was contained. Not like he could do anything at this point. He pulled his undershirt off over his head and threw it into the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me you forgot, you promised, Stevie.” Bucky was right against the bathroom door, and he could hear the slight whine start to creep into his voice. “It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Friday! </span>
  </em>
  <span>We’re going to my parents so we can listen to the Buck Rogers radio program. Just like every Friday!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh -- oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit!</span>
  </em>
  <span> How did I forget?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know, Rogers, how did you? It ain't like I've been talking about this for the last week. And it ain’t like it changes days. Friday is the Buck Rogers show! I know I brought it up at lunch."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You brought up thumbs gettin’ ripped off at lunch, Buck.” Steve said, opening the door. Bucky was blocking the doorway, and he paused. Pale blue eyes were roving over his body and he felt his blood run cold. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He knows</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Bucky moved just out of the way, staying so close Steve practically had to brush past him to escape into their room. “Then I must’ve said something this morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve picked up his trousers and turned an accusing finger to Bucky. “James Buck, this morning you said exactly the following.” He cleared his throat, and Bucky rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. He knew where this was going. “You said ‘Fuck. Fuck. Turn off that fucking alarm. Fuck, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>alarm. Fuck. Five more minutes. Five more minutes.’ Then there was twenty minutes of loud snoring and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> you just shrieked ‘fuck’ while you threw clothes on and fell out the door still buttoning your trousers. Sound familiar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, I don’t recall any of that.” But Bucky was blushing, and he grabbed a new undershirt for Steve, throwing it at his head. “Either way, we gotta go or we’re never gonna make it in time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pulled his trousers up, letting the suspenders fall at his sides as he struggled into his undershirt. “Ya know, you really gotta watch your language, Buck. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll kiss </span>
  <em>
    <span>somethin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> with that mouth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve couldn’t help but grin. “What’s that supposed to mean? Get my shoes, will ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky turned to hunt down his shoes and socks for him. “It means hurry the fuck up, will ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve snickered as he started to button up his shirt, glancing up as suddenly Bucky was right in front of him again, his nimble fingers working from the bottom to close his shirt up. It was too big on Steve, but too small for Bucky, and the bigger man spun his partner around to start shoving the tails down into his pants for him. “Whoa--” Steve laughed as fingers brushed his ticklish hips. “Watch it -- if you had just reminded me like you were s’posed to…” But once his shirt was tucked, he pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders and sat to pull his shoes on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen here, Punk…” Bucky grumbled, but the threat ended there. He dropped to a knee to help lace Steve’s shoes, taking a moment to examine the sizeable hole in the sole of one. “When you gonna let me buy you new shoes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve scoffed. “With what money, Buck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, I can find some. Save up. Work a few more shifts.” He held up the shoe again, his finger poking through the bottom. “I bet this is why you keep getting sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve snatched the shoe from him and crammed his foot into it. Like everything he had, it was second hand, too big, and eagerly barrelling towards the end of its lifespan. “My entire body is why I keep getting sick. I don’t think a new pair of shoes is gonna make much difference.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never know. Might be nice at least. Not havin’ to shove newspapers in em to keep em on your damn feet.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Steve grumbled, careful to pinch the lace right below the frayed end so it didn’t snap.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Bucky noticed. “You’re a damn travesty. You’re gonna make me be embarrassed to be seen with you in such a state.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve shot him a scathing glance. Too far. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Uh huh,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he repeated with a warning note in his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mean like -- I mean you’re my very best pal, I gotta take care of you right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve was starting to bristle. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. “I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> you to ‘take care’ of me, Buck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky straightened, balking now. “No -- no you do this every time. That’s not what I’m sayin’ and you’re not listening. I got some money squirrelled away--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> charity, James Buck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-- I can spare like. I dunno, five dollars --”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Steve sputtered. “Five doll-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span> Buck, don’t you dare --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-- I mean, if it means you </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> get new shoes -- those were walked out before you ever put em on, Rogers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t you dare --</span>
  </em>
  <span> I thought you were in a hurry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh -- Fuck -- yeah come on, hurry up.” Bucky said, grabbing his wrist and yanking him to his feet so hard that Steve was certain one arm was now longer than the other. He whapped Buck in the shoulder in response, but Bucky just laughed, refusing to let him go. Grabbing Steve’s coat on his way out, the two disappeared into the warm New York evening, the door slamming one last time behind them. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Brought to You By Popsicle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For this chapter I listened to hours and hours of the 1938 Buck Rogers radio show, and let me tell you, storytelling was DIFFERENT back in their day. It was practically calm by comparison to what we're used to now. And the advertisements. Phew...</p>
<p>I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it. I love you all, thank you for joining me in this journey!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky waited for the door to be unlocked, bouncing on his toes eagerly like a dog who desperately need to be let out into the yard. As soon as the key was turned he groped for Steve’s arm, slammed onto the handle and let himself fall into the house, dragging his friend behind him. Steve stumbled and that grip slipped off of his wrist, fingertips brushing as they separated. Bucky turned, eyes feral and wide, but George had caught the smaller man by the back of the shirt and helped him keep his balance. </p>
<p>“James, shoes off in the house please.” George said patiently, hovering in the doorway as he knocked out the bowl of his pipe on the doorframe. Steve leaned obediently against the wall as he carefully unknotted his laces and pulled off his shoes, shooting an irritated glance in the direction where Bucky had disappeared to. </p>
<p>It was pretty clear his son hadn’t heard him, or if he had, he was too preoccupied with the real star of the evening: the Belmont on the credenza. Becca shouted out a greeting to her brother, only to be wrestled aside for control of the dial. The argument that ensued was loud, instantaneous, and incomprehensible. It was simultaneously amusing and refreshing how quickly the dynamic shifted in his son. Bucky had dropped the heavy facade of being a twenty year old workhorse and returned to his rightful role as an older brother. Becca’s demeanor morphed to suit, and her father could see the shift in her posture as his children stole together into a simpler time. A time without worries about rent, or grocery money, or the oncoming chill; only their radio program and whatever mischief they chose to invent. A time where their only thoughts were that of recuperation from the real world. A time when they didn’t have to worry about indoor footwear protocol, apparently. George clicked his tongue and was about to repeat his reminder when -</p>
<p>“Buck! Shoes!” the little blond barked with all the authority of a seasoned drill sergeant. George couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed that his own children weren’t the only ones eager to slip back into simpler times for a spell. </p>
<p>“Wait - wait Becca you gotta put it on the right station-”<br/>
<br/>
“It <em> was </em> on the right station, quit messing with it - now it’s all -”<br/>
<br/>
“What station is it supposed to be on? We’re gonna miss it!”</p>
<p>“If you would just leave it alone-”</p>
<p>“James Buck, take off your damn shoes!” Steve interjected, only gaining his attention after his own bounced off of Bucky’s back. </p>
<p>Bucky growled and fell backwards into a sit to pull off his footwear, relinquishing control of the radio to his sister. Becca’s grumbles were unladylike and unrepeatable and thankfully growled too softly for her father to hear. She turned the dial back to where she had originally had it. </p>
<p>As the familiar introduction started, Winifred emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and looking around wide-eyed as if startled by the sudden racket in her usually peaceful household. As if this exact chaos hadn’t become a twice-weekly occurrence. “George, I thought you were bringing home the boys, not a pair of wild animals!” She chided affectionately.</p>
<p>“Ah I’m sorry, Winnie. I must have mixed them up with a pair of baboons again. Easy mistake. Well, come on you two, back in the car, let’s get you back to the zoo.”</p>
<p>“Ah come on, Pop it’s starting!” Bucky whined, only goaded by Becca’s wordless noise of protest that they all be quiet. </p>
<p>Steve had missed his chance to escape out of the entry way, almost sandwiched between Mr and Mrs Barnes as she moved to greet her husband, kissing his cheek and murmuring her thanks for picking the boys up. Steve tried to squirm out of the way, but she caught him by a suspender strap and pulled him into her arms. </p>
<p>Winifred Barnes was a paradox of a woman. She was at once soft and doting, uncompromising and unyielding. She was made of steel and rivets, of hot cocoa and the bundle of warm blankets. Her hands could coax such tenderness that Steve wanted to melt into her arms and stay against the protection of her breast forever, but he had been on the receiving end of a sharp cuff more than once. She had given Bucky her eyes, the color of moonlight, twin pools able to cool the constant heat in his spirit and light his way when things seemed so dark. Her scent was of confectioner’s sugar and sunbeams and the promise that things would soon be okay. Her embrace reminded him of his own mother and it rattled something deep in his core.</p>
<p>“There’s my favorite son,” she crooned, smoothing his blond hair away from his face. She was only slightly taller than him, but even that small difference made him feel like a child instead of a full grown man. Albeit the current rambunctiousness of his partner did little to contradict the sensation. For a moment Steve thought she was saying that to get a rise out of Bucky, but if he heard, he did little more than glance over his shoulder to check on Steve’s absence. “How are you feeling? Are you eating enough?”</p>
<p>“Yes, ma’am,” he confirmed, tilting his chin up to her again as she continued to fuss with his unruly hair. </p>
<p>“Good. You have good color, make sure you keep getting enough sun.”</p>
<p>“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed again as George slipped past them to go join his dark-haired offspring. Steve could hear the announcer introducing the winner of the Typical American Boy Contest. Again. Every week he wondered if it would be anyone else, but every week it was good ol’ Popsicle Pete. He was starting to think there wasn’t a contest at all. And Pete didn’t talk like any American Boy he knew, typical or otherwise. But Bucky and Becca had both settled down on the floor together, staring up at the radio and drinking in every word. </p>
<p>“- is that okay, dear?” Mrs Barnes was asking. Steve shook his head, a little startled.</p>
<p>“I’m - I’m sorry can you -?”</p>
<p>Winnie chuckled. “I need you in the kitchen for just a moment. Is that okay?”</p>
<p>Steve fought the urge to tilt his head. She was Bucky’s mother, and even before his own had died, she had filled a place of warmth and acted like a second mother to him. Though she’d always been more gentle with him, quicker to bark at Bucky than she was with Steve, the question made him a touch wary. </p>
<p>“Oh. Yes, ma’am.” He agreed again, letting her sweep him into the kitchen. The smell of cooking dinner made his stomach growl. He immediately recognized the aroma of a baking meatloaf and his mouth started to water. On the stovetop was a pan of potatoes, the masher resting against the lip, still a bit lumpy, just the way he liked them. She drew out a spoonful and blew on it for a moment. Steve watched the steam rise off of the fluffy white, enjoying the way it spiralled with an impossible grace towards the ceiling, only to be dashed again by her breath.</p>
<p>“I tried something new, will you tell me what you think?” She asked, offering the spoon out to him.</p>
<p>He blew on it once himself for good measure, his ear trained to the door. Popsicle Pete was still talking about all the swell prizes that could be redeemed for collecting wrappers. It seemed too good to be true, and if his mother had taught him anything, is that if it <em> seemed </em> too good to be true, it likely was. And then the warm mash was in his mouth and he couldn’t resist a soft moan. It was warm and spread to cover his tongue, creamy and buttery and… there was something else he couldn’t place. He knit his brow and tilted his head up at her curiously.</p>
<p>“...garlic?” He asked.</p>
<p>“Mhm! I boiled them right in with the potatoes. Does it taste okay?”</p>
<p>“Mm- it’s fantastic. Maybe a little more salt?” He glanced back at the living room. The announcer was crooning sentimentally about the merits of a cool, nutritious popsicle on a hot day. Pure and nourishing, and wrapped in those valuable bags. His love letter to frozen confections was almost over, which meant the show was almost starting. </p>
<p>Bucky had noticed too, and he called for him. “Stevie?” His voice had a note of worry, and Becca echoed his call, both hyper aware of his absence. Steve started to carefully list towards the door, hoping that was all Winnie wanted.</p>
<p>“Oh one more thing -” Winnie said, and Steve winced. He could hear Bucky stirring. He knew that if he missed the show, Buck would fill him in. But he didn’t want to risk Bucky forfeiting his favorite story just because he couldn’t share it in the moment with Steve. “Will you go in the freezer box and let me know what you find?”</p>
<p>Steve blinked, then looked over at the refrigerator. It was new, only a few months old, an anniversary gift to Winnie from her husband. It ran on electricity, and could keep things cool without having to purchase blocks of ice. In fact, it could make its own ice, with a little box near the top. He grunted as he pulled the heavy door open, glancing inside. There was a quiver of jealousy in his chest. Steve had seen the advertisements for these machines, and they went for easily a hundred dollars for the lowest end model. This one was not the low end model… </p>
<p>A hundred dollars… Probably much higher than that. It was enough to cover three months rent of their little railroad tenement with money left over to spare. A hundred for an icebox, the Belmont was worth almost fifty - no wonder Bucky thought it was okay to spend five dollars on shoes. He curled his toes in his socks again, glad that being between jobs at least meant that he had plenty of time to darn the holes. </p>
<p>“Sweetheart?” Winnie asked gently. Steve jumped a little. It was not the first time he’d gotten lost in his head over the sheer difference between Bucky’s old lifestyle and his current one, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand why Buck would choose their tiny apartment over a bedroom that was easily half the size of the whole thing. Where he wouldn’t have to work himself to the bone to afford rent and food and coal and medicine. Where he could listen to the radio any time he wanted without taking a trek across the city to do it. Steve was used to their current way of living, even if it was still leaner than it had been with his ma. He couldn’t remember a time when they didn’t have to fight and claw to keep their heads above water. When she’d died, he’d lost the only lifeline he’d had. Well, at least he’d thought he’d had. </p>
<p>Bucky had fought tooth and nail to prove him wrong, to convince Steve that as hard and as stubborn as he wanted to be, Bucky still wasn’t going to let him struggle alone. Moving into the Barnes household had been offered repeatedly, but Steve couldn’t accept that charity any more than he’d been able to accept the envelope of greenbacks George had tried to quietly slip him. Steve might be stubborn, but Bucky was clever, and it hadn’t slipped Steve’s notice that his friend’s adventure into independent living had conveniently began only a few months before he last of his own funds had dried up completely. Bucky had given up a life of comfort to maneuver himself into a position where Steve would willingly accept his help. Luxury and ease sacrificed just to ensure that they would meet each other halfway. And now here he was, the cold air washing over his warm skin, being asked to look in an icebox.</p>
<p>Shit! The icebox.</p>
<p>His eyes immediately flit to the freezer box and he tilted his head again at what he saw there. Three neatly packaged little bags. Carefully he pulled them out, giving Winnie a questioning look. She smiled and gestured for him to take them. </p>
<p>Three Popsicle brand ice pops. Not Goodpop, not Popice. Actual <em> popsicles </em> . He boggled at the thoughtfulness, the <em> logistics </em> it would have taken to get these and his jealousy melted at the simple act of generosity. He looked up at her questioningly, as if making sure it was okay, but she just laughed softly and moved aside. “Go on now, it’s starting without you.”</p>
<p>He grabbed up all three, pushing the door shut and beamed at her. “Thanks, Mrs Barnes!” He cried, unable to hide his excitement. </p>
<p>She laughed and swatted him as he passed. “Don’t thank me, thank your father.”</p>
<p>George Barnes was of course not his father, but today the gesture didn’t rankle him like it usually would. The Barnes tried so hard to make him feel like family even before Sarah’s death, but with his own family consisting of only himself and his mother, it was always hard for him to accept their kindness as just that. Not charity. Not pity. Just kindness. He eagerly rushed to where Becca and Bucky were sitting and handed them down a popsicle each. </p>
<p>Becca tore hers open, neatly spreading the bag out to add to her collection, holding it by one of the twin sticks as she stuck the entire top into her mouth, grinning up eagerly for the show to begin. Bucky was a bit calmer with his, but just as Steve was starting to settle down to listen he paused.</p>
<p>There were three treats. Treats that their mother and father had put thought and effort into for just this day. Three treats. And there were five people in the house. </p>
<p>It didn’t sit well with him. </p>
<p>Steve paused, then unwrapped his own and handed the wrapper over to Becca, before carefully pulling apart on the twin sticks. They broke into two separate popsicles with relative ease, and he moved quietly over to where George was sitting reading his newspaper. He waited to be acknowledged. When George continued to stare at what seemed to be the same word on the page for longer than Steve was willing to spare, he reached over the paper to offer him the frozen stick. </p>
<p>“Thank you, Mr Barnes,” he said softly.</p>
<p>George finally looked up, realizing that stoicism wasn’t going to dissuade the gesture and let his newspaper go limp. “Son, those are for <em> you. </em>”</p>
<p>“I know but… Doesn’t seem right, you should get to enjoy it too.”</p>
<p>“Son…”</p>
<p>Buck turned where he sat, “Oh hey! Stevie, I got red. That’s your favorite, right? Wanna split it with me?”</p>
<p>Rootbeer was actually Steve’s favorite, but Bucky had his back and it only steeled his conviction. “Yeah, thanks Buck! That’d be real swell!” He said, still holding out the orange one to Mr Barnes.</p>
<p>The man glanced at his own son, then to the stubborn blond, and to the offered ice pop. He locked eyes with the young man, his own stormy grey against vibrant blue. Finally, with a smirk so similar to Bucky’s it made Steve pause, he reached over and took the offering. </p>
<p>“Thank you, Steven.” </p>
<p>Steve just smiled, feeling the flicker of victory as he rushed to Winnie. His tactic would need to be different with her. She was salting the mashed potatoes when he came rushing in, grabbed her hand, shoved the stick into her palm and bolted. “Thank you, love you, gotta go, show starting!” He yelped out as he ran back to the room, sliding into his spot between Becca and Bucky.</p>
<p>Bucky snapped his pop apart and offered up half, Becca leaning on Steve’s opposite shoulder. Feeling victorious, he took the offered half and lazily sucked on it, watching Becca happily suck hers whole. Finally the story started. </p>
<p>Buck Rogers wasn’t his favorite, but Bucky adored the idea of the Future. And Steve adored the glitter that came into Bucky’s eyes as he devoured every moment. To Steve, it just wasn’t realistic. An accident that froze someone in time for hundreds of years without any detriment to their physical or mental capacities? It was a bit too out there. </p>
<p>He sucked on his frozen treat, Becca’s weight causing him to lean more into Bucky. He took the excuse, watching the way Buck’s mouth moved around his half of the popsicle, listening to the adventure. Steve smiled a little, closing his eyes to picture it, the grand hero flying on a rocket, blasting bad guys with rayguns, rescuing damsels. Beside him, he heard Bucky heave a big, relaxed sigh, pushing right back into him.</p>
<p>All too soon, the story was over. It ended, of course, on a cliff hanger and Popsicle Pete was back, preaching the virtues of saving the wrappers - they were just as good as money after all - to redeem for fabulous prizes. Steve rolled his eyes, glancing over at Bucky. He was chewing on his stick, his eyes staring into the middle distance, still lost in the adventure. The faintest ghost of a smile came to Steve’s lips. He was happy to let Bucky stay in that fantasy world for as long as he wanted, as long as he never lost that look of wonder on his face. Almost reluctantly, he untangled himself from the Barnes siblings and rose to go help Winnie set the table.</p>
<p>It was tradition at this point, once or twice a week coming to Bucky’s parents for dinner, and they’d fallen into a familiar routine. Steve insisted on pulling his weight, setting the table and helping with the last bits of preparation for the meal. It was a job usually relegated to Becca, so she was more than happy to enjoy her break and speculate eagerly about next installation of the story with her brother. The conversation continued to the dinner table, Steve between the two again so that they talked over his back as he eagerly tucked into the meal that Winnie had made. Meatloaf, potatoes and steamed greens. </p>
<p>Steve didn’t mind that Bucky was almost on his seat in his eagerness to talk to his sister. He didn’t mind that he didn’t answer when Steve asked if he just wanted to swap seats. After all, Bucky was so distracted that he could easily just steal bites from his plate as well. What he <em> did </em> mind, however, was when in the middle of an argument over some aspect of the gyroscopic relativator he leaned fully across Steve’s back just as he was trying to eat, causing him to drop his fork onto his lap, food and all.</p>
<p>“Damn it, Buck! You’re both wrong anyhow, you know Black Barnie’s already got the means to stop Killer Kane, god I swear I’m the only one who pays attention.” He snapped. </p>
<p>Bucky blinked but sat back in his seat. “...What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“He already got the psychic restriction ray but he didn’t know what it was. Watch, I bet you a quarter, next week he’s gonna use it to get away. Will you stop acting like an animal now?” He asked, trying to scrub the stain off of his trousers. </p>
<p>“Huh…” Buck said thoughtfully, then reached for his own napkin, dipping it into his water glass to try and help with the mess he’d created. “You really think -”</p>
<p>“So James, sweety,” Winnie began, and Bucky straightened up. “What are your plans for this weekend?”</p>
<p>Steve smelled a trap. This too was tradition, and how Bucky responded next would determine how this dance would go. </p>
<p>“No plans,” Bucky said, and Steve made a soft sigh of disappointment in his throat. “Do some wash, chores around the house. Get some much needed sleep.”</p>
<p>“So nothing tomorrow night?” She asked, and her tone was just a little too sweet. </p>
<p>“Nah, not yet at least. Might go see a movie - you wanna see a movie, Stevie?”</p>
<p><em> Oh Bucky. You sweet idiot. </em> Steve just looked at him, waiting to see if he would realize his misstep before the trap snapped shut.</p>
<p>“Oh that’s fantastic news, sweetheart.” Nope. Steve sighed and went for his water glass. “Because I was just speaking to Helen Sheppard, you know, Nancy’s mother?”</p>
<p>Buck’s eyes widened a little. He caught on too late and started to fumble over his words. “Oh - oh well I mean, I actually do gotta -”</p>
<p>“And since you’re not busy tomorrow night, I thought it would be nice if you took Nancy to the cinema with you. Since you were already planning to go.” </p>
<p>Steve levelled a gaze at Bucky that accused him of many things. Being quick witted and observant was not among them. Buck tried backpedal. “I mean - I mean maybe not, we don’t really have the cash to spare right now and -”</p>
<p>“Oh don’t worry, darling, your father and I will be happy to give you some spending money for this. Since after all, you’re doing us such a favor.”</p>
<p>Steve snickered softly. “Have a nice night, Buck. See you after church on Sunday,” he teased. </p>
<p>“Oh Steven honey, you should join them.” Oh no. “See, Nancy has a friend, Veronica Crosby - ‘Vera’ I think they call her. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”</p>
<p>“Debatable,” Steve grumbled into his glass, glancing at Bucky. “She did it again.”</p>
<p>“You did it again!” Bucky yelped, though he quickly shot a glance at his father to make sure he wasn’t being out of line. “I’m more than capable of setting up my own dates, ma. I don’t need you to -”</p>
<p>“Oh honey, you don’t need to thank me. I did all the legwork for you. Unless… you already have a lady friend?”</p>
<p>Steve tried to psychically will Bucky into saying yes. </p>
<p>“I mean - no but -” Bucky blurted. Steve frowned harder, wondering if the fault was in his own mental prowess or Bucky’s thick skull. </p>
<p>“Well then I don’t see what the problem is.” Winnie said, watching the boys over her own glass. There was victory in her eyes.</p>
<p>“Why do you gotta keep setting me up?” Bucky asked, the whine starting to come back into his voice.</p>
<p>“Your mother wants grandchildren,” George offered helpfully, as he served himself another thick slice of meatloaf. </p>
<p>“Okay but why drag Stevie into this?”</p>
<p>Winnie gasped, feigning offense. “Is it so wrong to double my chances? Anyone would be lucky to snap up such a handsome, charming young man.” </p>
<p>All three children rolled their eyes at the same time. “You aren’t shoving Becca out the door-”</p>
<p>“You leave me out of this,” Becca growled into her mashed potatoes.</p>
<p>“Good, then it’s decided,” Winnie beamed, “You can pick them up at six.” </p>
<p>Bucky’s growl was punctuated by a dramatic slump into his chair, but Steve couldn’t blame him. He felt the same frustration and irritation, but at least this time they’d suffer together. Maybe it’d be okay though. Winnie’s tastes were quite good, she had an eye for personality and usually the dates were pretty enjoyable for everyone involved. </p>
<p>Well. Almost everyone. Personality aside, most of the girls she’d chosen for the double had a hard time looking past Steve’s multitude of glaring physical flaws. The sudden realization that he was being set up for another night of rejection, as well meaning as it may be, settled on him like a wet blanket. He didn’t hear the rest of the conversation through dinner. He lost his appetite.</p>
<p>When the food was done, he and Bucky shared duty at the sink cleaning the dishes, and after another hour or so of visiting and socializing, it was time to head out lest they miss the last train home. Winnie pulled both her boys to her in turn, kissing either cheek and their foreheads before pressing a bundle of wrapped leftovers into Steve’s arms and seeing them out the door. </p>
<p>By the time they stepped off the last train and emerged back onto the street, Bucky was wrist deep into narrating his own adventures of what <em> he </em> would do if he was Buck Rogers. </p>
<p>“And he thinks too much! He spends too much time tryin’ t’<em> talk </em> to Kane but ya know what I’d do?” </p>
<p>“What would you do, Buck?” Steve asked, smiling faintly to himself as he cradled the bundle to his chest watching Bucky shift from his left side to his right side to his left again. He finally settled on his left, where he knew Steve’s hearing was better.</p>
<p>“Don’t give him a chance to talk! His name is <em> Killer </em> Kane. Not Logical Larry or Confused But Well-Meaning Carl. He’s <em> Killer </em> Kane.”</p>
<p>“Maybe he’s just a snazzy dresser,” Steve teased, glancing at him.</p>
<p>“Yeah yuck it up, you wouldn’t be laughing if suddenly Kane had his hands on <em> you! </em>” Buck said, grabbing Steve and yanking him nearly off his feet for not the first time this trip. </p>
<p>“Hey - I’m gonna drop this stuff and then what are you gonna eat tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“Same slop you make every day,” Bucky said with a grin, not letting him go. Before Steve could let the appropriate level of insult settle on his face, he was being yanked again. “You know what I’d do if Killer Kane gotcha, Stevie?”</p>
<p>Steve grunted as he felt himself being hauled this way and that, stumbling each time. “Shake me to death before he had a chance?”</p>
<p>“Nah - well maybe,” Bucky paused to think about that, and Steve just let himself go limp against his arm, anticipating the next jolt. It came quickly, Buck jostling him into the crook of his other arm. “But <em> after </em> that, I’d get my raygun and blast him right in his smug face.”</p>
<p>“Where you gonna get a raygun, Buck?” Steve asked, pressed between his arm and his chest. </p>
<p>“Every hero’s got a raygun. Keep up, Rogers.”</p>
<p>“Yeah? So you’re gonna blast him and -”</p>
<p>“So there’s Killer Kane, and he don’t know who he’s dealin’ with. He thinks that it’s Buck Rogers comin’ to put him in his place, but little does he know, it’s Bucky <em> Barnes </em> he’s really about to tango with.” Steve couldn’t help but grin, even as he was spun out to the end of Bucky’s arm. “And he has no idea that’s nabbed the wrong person-”</p>
<p>“Cuz you’re gonna save me?”</p>
<p>“Well, that and you’re a real pain. Could just let him keep you come to think of it.”</p>
<p>“Say, can I see that raygun? Not gonna shoot you or anything, just wanna look at it. Just gonna look, Buck.”</p>
<p>Bucky laughed, pulling him closer again. “And I wouldn’t even hesitate. ‘That’s <em> my </em> Steve you got there, Kane. And you messed with the wrong Buck,’” he said, dropping his voice to a baritone. </p>
<p>“That line needs work.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, really wanted to workshop my escapist fantasy with you, Punk.”</p>
<p>If he grinned any harder he was certain his face would crack. “Then what? He’s Killer Kane. You said so yourself -”</p>
<p>“So there he is! I blast him with my raygun but he’s too quick! He fires back!” Steve was hauled to the opposite side and he had to concentrate to keep his feet under him. “But I’m too quick for him! He’s got Steve as a human shield! He’s layin’ down dramatic threats all quicklike but he forgot one crucial thing.” Bucky paused for effect. Steve realized he was holding his breath. “My Steve’s short as hell.”<br/>
<br/>
Steve let out a bark of a laugh at that, but it was cut off as he was swung wildly to the left again, grunting and clutching the leftovers for dear life. Bucky was completely lost in his own game now. “I fire right over his head, scorching that pretty blond hair, but no matter, because the day -” </p>
<p>Steve grunted as he was swung right back into the crook of Bucky’s arm. He gave up trying to stay on his own feet, just grinning at Bucky in the dying evening light. “Has been saved again. By Bucky Barnes!” He proclaimed. Steve closed his eyes, giggling, but when he opened them again, Bucky was <em> right there </em>.</p>
<p>He didn’t have time to react before soft pink lips were pressed to his. It felt like electricity racing through his body, locking his limbs and making his eyes go wide. For a moment his heart stopped and time stood still. Then every muscle in his body went loose and he relaxed into it, eyes fluttering shut. The feeling was indescribable. He was weightless. His heart had never felt so full and he had never realized that anything could feel more… <em> right </em>. Bucky’s arms fit him like a glove, and he was certain that if he felt any more glee, he could light up all of Brooklyn.</p>
<p>They realized what was happening at the same time, two pairs of blue eyes snapping wide. Gasping, Steve got his feet under him and Bucky side stepped, looking around warily to make sure no one had seen them. He panted as if he were out of breath, as if he’d just run a mile. Steve wasn’t sure if it was Bucky’s heart racing or his own he was hearing in his ears. What had he done? What had <em> they </em>done? His head felt suddenly tight like it had been in a vice. Like he was going to pass out. </p>
<p>“...Steve?” Bucky asked, his voice choked and breathless. </p>
<p>Steve knew he should turn and face him. Tell him that it was… what? Okay? Better than okay? That it was what he’d wanted for as long as he could remember, that he was - that they were - </p>
<p>Steve swallowed but his mouth was dry. He was confused. By his expression, Bucky was confused too. He wanted to reach out for him. Tell him nothing mattered or everything mattered and that he was confused but at least that they could be confused together. </p>
<p>But Steve did none of that. He turned on his heel. He hugged the bundle more desperately to his chest. And he just kept walking home. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> <br/>art by the talented Bicappy </p>
</div>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Washing Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The trek home had settled into an uncomfortable, pregnant silence. Steve could still feel his lips tingling from the kiss, and though the warmth had faded, he tried to will it to stay. He’d glanced at Bucky the entire walk, and he felt Buck glancing at him when he wasn’t looking. Wondering if they should say something but knowing that anything said would just be an excuse or a way to brush it off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve didn’t want it brushed off. He wanted it to be real, not just a momentary lapse. And he wanted to have just one night to believe it. To revel in feeling wanted. Desired. And by someone whom he himself wanted and desired so very </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> badly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky lingered over his shoulder as Steve unlocked the door, and as he quietly closed it behind them he turned to Steve. “Stevie, I--”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Steve cut him off. “...Don’t.” He couldn’t handle hearing that it was ‘just an accident’ or that he ‘didn’t mean it’. He wanted to let this warmth grow in his chest, he wanted to protect that ember and keep it safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But one look at Bucky’s face told him that he wasn’t done talking. Well fine. If he wanted to talk, he’d give him something to talk about. Anything to guard himself against that conversation he knew he wasn’t strong enough to have. If they had to fight, Steve would give him a fight with much lower stakes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well this is a real fine mess you’ve gotten us into. You know your good trousers need to be washed and pressed before you can go out with your new lady love,” he said with a huff, carefully untucking his shirt and unclipping his suspenders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took Bucky a long moment to respond, as if he were debating on something with himself. Finally he turned to begin undressing as well. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Our</span>
  </em>
  <span> new lady loves. And I’m sorry. I tried, you saw me try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow it had been easier for Steve to pretend that he had been removed entirely from the equation than to face the reality. “I’m not lookin’ forward to this…” He admitted in a soft grumble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll be fine, Stevie. I’ll be right there with you.” Buck coaxed gently. “It’ll just be a night on the town with a couple of new friends --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>get it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Buck. Gals don’t look at me the same way they look at you. They don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> me the same way they like you. They’re gonna take one look at me and realize they’ve been cheated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve, that’s not what’s gonna happen--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It is because that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> what happens! I’m shorter than most the dames we take out, I’m too scrawny, I’m too sickly -- I’m the runt that shoulda been drowned, Buck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey -- stop. That’s my best friend you’re talkin’ about, I ain’t gonna have anyone talkin’ so down on him, you hear me?” Buck said, and Steve couldn’t get a read on his tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t matter though, the rage that was bubbling up in him shifted and Steve felt his chin start to quiver. He drew in on himself, covering his face with both hands, struggling to shove his emotions back down, to get himself in check. From across the room, Bucky moved a half-step forward, reaching out tentatively with one hand. He abandoned the motion at the last moment, instead running his hand through his own hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Stevie…” He tried again, gently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve drew a breath, aware that it was shuddering in his chest, and brought his hands down. His eyes felt wet but he hadn’t cried. He hoped Bucky wouldn’t notice. “...I dunno how we’re gonna do it, Buck… I gotta get the washing done tomorrow if we’re gonna have anything for the evening, and I can’t do that and get the groceries at the same time. You should go without me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Buck said firmly. “If I wanna go out with my best pal, I’m goin’ out with my best pal. The dames can tag along if they want.” He waited to see if there was a response, but Steve just sniffed hard and looked away. “And I live here too. I’ll get the groceries if you do the washing. You’re faster at it than I am.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve nodded, slowly gathering clothes for the wash, while equally slowly pulling on his own pajamas. As he passed Bucky, he felt a hand on his arm and paused, not looking up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey…” Buck said, reaching to tap his chin and coax his gaze into his own. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise. If they get sassy, I’ll give em both the boot. It’ll be fun…” He said, giving a boyish smile that was so awkward and hopeful that it became more convincing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Okay Buck.” He finally conceded, finishing his pile and moving to crawl unceremoniously into his own bed. Steve rolled over to face the wall, curling up tight with his arms around his skinny chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why did he have to ruin it for himself? He’d finally gotten what he’d always wanted -- to know what it was like to be kissed by Bucky Barnes. And now all he could think was that in just a few short hours, there’d be someone new on his arm, hoping for a kiss. Someone pretty and doelike, someone who would know all she had to do was bat her lashes and say just the right thing and he would be putty in her hand. Meanwhile Steve would be lucky if he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>buy</span>
  </em>
  <span> the attention of his date, he was sure. Not that he had any money to entice her with in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The game was stacked against him and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to play. Bucky was so adamant to try and level the playing field, but this wasn’t some scuffle where he could just step up and lay out a few blows and shake things up. Love was a game he had to play alone and the person who haunted his dreams and set his blood on fire was the one he couldn’t have. Steve buried his face in his pillow and let the tears come as silently as he could. He didn’t want to play anymore. He didn’t want to be the selfish one who kept Bucky from finding the person he could spent the rest of his life with. And Steve knew deep down what that meant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would have to let Bucky go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pain that followed was surreal, and he clutched his pillow to his face, somehow keeping his breathing steady, somehow keeping from sobbing, weathering the burning, ripping feeling in his chest. Bucky deserved happiness. Bucky deserved everything he wanted in life, he deserved so many accolades for all he had done for Steve. He cared for him constantly, sick or well. He always tried to put Steve’s needs and desires first. He worked tirelessly to keep them fed and sheltered. Bucky deserved the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was on this thought that he finally fell asleep. Bucky deserved the world, no matter what that looked like. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sleep crept upon him like the tide, slowly at first, washing gently but never quite taking him fully. He could hear Bucky going through his own nightly routines. The restless shifting in his own bed. A bed only hours prior Steve had stolen a few precious moments in. He could hear the creak of the mattress, the turn of the pages of his pulp novel. He could hear the low sigh that seemed to come every few minutes. Bucky was struggling with the night just as much as he was. Steve let out his own sigh. He had to fix this. He was going to fix this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swinging his legs around, he stood and looked around for Bucky. For a moment he was disoriented, but he shook it off quickly. The Future looked strange, with its twisting towers of metal and glass, sleek cars that seemed to hover off the ground, meals that came in tight capsules. He had to find where Bucky went. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The world moved around him like water, but he found himself chasing shadows, hunting down each length hoping that it would end in his friend. In the darkness was a deep, pervasive cold that bit straight through his armor, through his flight suit, through his skin and into his bones. He pushed the discomfort down. He had to find Bucky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Racing through the streets, weaving in and out of shadows, into the piercing cold, and back out again for an eternity or two, he found him. Steve was standing on the edge of a bridge, snow and ice whipping below him. Across the chasm he could see a man. No. Not just a man, but Buck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>Buck. He looked sharp in a brown suit, in one hand he held a glass of champagne, and he was laughing. Steve felt at once a surge of relief and jealousy to find him not only safe, but exuberant. He was so far away, and Steve couldn’t figure out how to get over to him. The bridge seemed to reach forever in all directions except the one he needed to go in. There was no way to get nearer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky spotted him and waved, gesturing for Steve to join him. Steve tilted his head, as if to ask how, but Buck just laughed that handsome, boyish laugh and waved him over eagerly with an arm. From the blizzard, two dames, pretty as a picture, came up behind Bucky and draped themselves against his body. Buck beamed proudly and gestured for Steve to join him again. Again the blond was lost as to how.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve opened his mouth to call out his name, but all that came from his lips was a breathy gasp. He frowned. It was as if the air wouldn’t catch in his throat, and even as he tried again, for all his strength all he could manage to eek out was a breezy “Buh…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across the chasm, the girls tittered, nuzzling into Bucky’s neck, slender arms wrapping around his waist. Bucky beamed at him, impatiently trying to make Steve join him, but Steve simply couldn’t. There was no way over, and the longer he struggled, the further they seemed to drift apart. The more the chasm expanded. He tried again, trying to call Bucky’s name, but again, all that came out was a noisy, wordless pant. Growling to himself, he tried again, more desperately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah!”  was all he could manage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky laughed, as if Steve was just being silly but there was an impatience coming into his eyes. Steve again tried to growl, but even that came out as just an irritated huff and not the proper snarl he felt was warranted. He had a sudden, desperate idea that maybe he could just leap over there. As he started to climb up onto the rail of the bridge, he clenched his jaw in determination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve looked up just in time to see the creeping black shadows emerge from the blizzard behind Bucky. The same icy shadows that had chilled his bones earlier. The same ones that tried to sap him of his warmth. And now it was coming for the source of that warmth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Buck! Buck!!</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Buh…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky look out! Bucky turn around, watch out! </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Merr… Buh…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky blinked, turning to see what Steve was looking at. All at once the shadows twisted and became solid. A skull with hollow eyes, tendrils like viper heads lashing off of it. They coiled around Bucky and started to pull in every direction. Steve tried to scream, but while his own came out silent, his friend’s ripped through his soul and tore the bridge out from under him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt himself fall backwards, reaching out and clawing to try and catch Bucky, try and save him, but the shadows had already devoured him and all that was left was his scream and that sickening fall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Snakehead tendrils looped around Steve, dragging him down and he didn’t care. He didn’t care as he was pulled backwards into the gaping maw of --</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stevie, wake up.” Bucky’s voice was rough and husky with sleep, right in his ear as he gave him another gentle jostle. It wasn’t snakes around him, but arms. He wasn’t falling, but Bucky’s weight behind him had made the matress sag as he dragged him back, not into the skeletal maw but into his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Buck?? Buck…” Steve whimpered, pressing back into him. He was trembling, and he felt Bucky reach down to pull the blanket up over both of them, as if the tremor was due to the night chill, and not the quickly fading terror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhh… I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere…” He murmured softly, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder as he held him. “...Was it the shadow dream again?” He asked, his voice thick. Steve realized he must have woken him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah… There was a blizzard this time…” He let out a big sigh, shifting to adjust to the arm under his ribs. “...M’sorry…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah,” Bucky grunted in return, pulling him a little tighter. Steve waited for him to say more, but gradually the breath in his ear became slower and deeper, occasionally punctuated with a soft snore. He listened to that rhythm, letting his eyelids grow heavy again as the trembling too slowed, then stopped. The tide came in more quickly this time, lulling him back to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t dream, and when the sun came gently creeping up the bed to focus a beam directly into his eye, he realized two things. Firstly, one of them had forgotten to close the damn blinds last night. He wasn’t sure whose fault it was, and as easy as it would be to growl at Bucky about it, he accepted that he just as easily could have done it himself. Well, he needed to wake up early anyhow, and neither of them had thought to set an alarm either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Steve stretched his long legs out and spread his toes, listening to the cracks and pops of his body, he came to the second realization. Bucky was still pressed against his back, snoring into the angle of his shoulder blades, his heavy arm draped over his hip. He reached up to rub the sleep out of his eyes, trying to remember anything about the night before. Clearly one of them had had a nightmare, but he didn’t recall anything after their plan to do the washing and for Buck to do the groceries. Maybe it was Buck who’d had the bad dream. He wrinkled his nose up and rubbed his face, carefully crawling out from under his arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buck made a soft noise of protest as he shifted, and Steve took his own pillow, pressing it into Bucky’s arms as a replacement. It worked, at least for now, and he couldn’t help but grin as his friend pulled the pillow closer and nuzzled his face into it. It was still early, he should get to sleep at least a little longer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve set about his morning routine as quietly as possible. He brushed his teeth and washed his face quietly in the bathroom. He fussed with his hair, trying to make it lay down across his forehead, but it refused to cooperate. He brought the big washbasin in from the fire escape balcony and made sure that the coffee can of clothespins hadn’t wandered off. Moving back inside, he watched the sun continue to rise as he wrote out the list of what they would need from the store in careful lettering. Bucky was still sound asleep when he set the fire in the oven, careful to close the door quietly as he let the flames rise. Now all he had to do was get the water going and…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>...Crap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pipes in the kitchen had an awful habit of rattling loud enough to wake the dead, especially first thing in the morning. He needed to let them run to clear out the first brown belches of rusty water before it was usable, and the noise had a way of making Bucky leap out of his skin even when he was awake. Well so much for letting him sleep in. Steve sighed and went to his bed, sitting on the edge behind Buck and reaching to gently shake his hip. “Hey. Wake up for a second.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buck grumbled into the pillow, blearily opening his eyes and squinting in the dim light. “Hey… where’s my hot water bottle?” He asked. Steve blinked, tilting his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Buck I don’t think you have one of tho--” But Bucky rolled over, catching him around the waist and dragging him back under the covers with him. Steve yelped but didn’t fight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah there he is,” Buck murmured, grinning as he hooked his chin over Steve’s shoulder. Steve just gave a long suffering sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kinda boney for a water bottle, doncha think?” He asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah. You’re the sleek, angular modern version. And so compact too.” Bucky pinched at Steve’s sides to make him squeak, earning a bat at his wrists in response. Buck just grinned. “Mmm so warm…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Apparently I double as a pillow, if the drool stain on my back is any indicator.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I ain’t apologizin’ for something I’m not sorry for,” Buck said with a grin. Steve turned just a little to better see him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Didja have a bad dream?” He asked. He should be getting up, finishing the morning chores, but this wasn’t too bad. He could spare a few minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm? No, you were talkin’ in your sleep again. Sounded like you were crying out. You don’t remember?” Steve shook his head. “Well. Probably for the best.” Bucky’s nose pressed into the nape of his neck and his breath washed over Steve’s skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve shivered as the gooseflesh started to spread. “You’re a real jerk, ya know that?” He muttered. Bucky just chuckled in the affirmative, content to while the day away in bed. Steve sighed and started to rise. “Come on…” he grumbled, getting up. Bucky’s hands followed, but fell off the side of the bed. He turned to look down at the pitiful display. “Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go without me… I’ve been hit with an electro-hypnoses depletion ray.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve been hit with a lazy bum beam.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell… my ma…” Bucky rasped dramatically, rolling onto his back with his head hanging off the side so that he could see Steve properly, if inverted. “I love her…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll tell her you said I get all your stuff,” Steve said, then looked around, smiling faintly. “Well. That’s it for ol’ Buck Barnes, the world’s okayest Space Ranger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it for ol’ -- hey.” Bucky shot him a scowl, but Steve was busy tapping his chin in thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya know. He’s gonna start stinkin’ up the place soon. Well -- more than usual. Better dump him over the balcony into the alley.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Buck grumbled, but remained limp as Steve grabbed his wrist to try and pull him off the bed. It took considerable effort, Steve hauling himself backwards with all his might for a half foot of purchase each time. Bucky went ragdoll, letting his shoulders slump to the floor, then his torso, then his hips with a loud thump. “Remind me to never ask you to move a body for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Man this corpse sure talks a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“S’the gasses escapin’ and stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe that,” Steve said with another grunt that brought one of Bucky’s legs to the floor. “You always were full’a hot air.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wasn’t where I was goin’ with that but okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>get up</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We have stuff to do today and in case you’ve forgotten, it’s all your fault.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Corpses don’t date. Looks like you gotta take em both. Money’s in my pants pocket, have fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve tugged again, hauling him fully off the bed and forward a foot. “Buuuuck!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No no, don’t stop. I wanna see how far you can get,” Buck grinned up at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll drag your head into the door frame and then you won’t be laughin’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably not,” Bucky agreed, still making no move to rise. Steve stared at him for a moment, then just dropped his arm and headed into the kitchen. Bucky swiped for his ankle but missed, rolling onto his belly to push himself to his feet. “Okay okay. What’s my mission today, Captain Rogers?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve snickered softly at the idea, turning on the tap. “Your mission --” the pipes rattled and clattered loudly and Bucky reeled with a grimace, as he did every time. There was the burp of air escaping the pipes, a blast of brownish water, and then it slowly began to clear. He shoved their biggest pot under the tap to fill. “Your mission, Lieutenant, is to infiltrate enemy lines, raid their storehouses and return with provisions.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I get to be Lieutenant?” Bucky asked cheerfully. Steve grunted as he hauled the pot on the stove to boil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well nevermind then. Private it is. Start peelin’ onions, Private Barnes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No wait -- I liked Lieutenant!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought you might,” Steve grunted, turning to try and pick up the basin to fill it at the sink. Bucky came over to take it from him. “Your dossier is on the table. Be warned, Lieutenant. This mission will not be easy. Your country is counting on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky was grinning, watching the water fill. “Aye, Captain. I won’t let you down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. Go get cleaned up and give me your night clothes so I can wash em.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah yeah,” Bucky muttered, going about his business and tossing his pants at Steve. While he might have no qualms marching around their apartment naked, Steve turned red and immediately busied himself with filling the tub with clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shades are open, Buck. Might wanna make yourself decent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky scoffed, and Steve could hear the slap of hands on his hips. “You kiddin’ me? I usually charge a dollar for this view. Early bird gets the worm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve thought he might die. The water was almost boiling, so he pulled it off the stove to warm the rest of the tub and started stripping down. “Yeah, but a buck’s a buck, Buck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm. You make a good point. Gimme your paint, I’ll make a sign. Anyone that looks in our window owes us a buck.”</span>
  <span></span>
    <br/>
  
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Buuuuuck.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think there’s an echo in here. You hear that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve huffed again, dumping the clothes in the tub and climbing in after it, taking his soap and his scrub brush to start work. He sank back and leaned against the metal, the hot water felt so good on his aching back and he braced one knee up to scrub a sock against his thigh. It was a trick he’d picked up ages ago, and one he’d never been willing to part with. If he was going to have to get soaked to the skin to clean their clothes, he might as well pull double duty and get a bath out of it as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky padded back into the kitchen, fixing his belt. He glanced down at Steve in the tub and just smirked in amusement. Steve glanced at him, wringing out a shirt before working more soap into it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothin’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, it’s one of the only perks of bein’ a runt, lemme have this okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t say nothin’! And quit callin’ yourself a runt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve rolled his eyes, going back to work. “You find the list?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“List?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. It’s a piece of paper with markings on them. Legend has it that if you pronounce the cryptic runes aloud, they will reveal to you the answers you seek. Like what we need from the store.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno, sounds fake. I should just go wing it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Buuuuuck!” Steve wailed, throwing his head back and trying to see where Bucky had gone to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steeeeeve,” Bucky mimicked. “Yes, I have the list. Lean forward, I’ll get your back for you before I go.” He said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve sighed, fishing around for a rag, but Buck just grabbed the nearest piece of clothing. “Hey!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. What? They’re all rags til they’re clean right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure they are, watch. Double duty.” He grabbed the soap and rubbed it all in the shirt he’d grabbed, then pushed Steve forward by the shoulder to clean his back. Steve made a soft grunt of pleasure. “Good?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Higher -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Bucky finished and tossed the shirt back into the main water, getting a cup to douse his friend’s head. Steve sputtered, but smirked up at him. “Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup. Man you got some big hands, lemme see.” Bucky said, dragging a chair over so he could pull his shoes on. Steve rolled his eyes, but held out a hand, splaying his fingers and Bucky put their palms together. Bucky’s were stronger with a broader palm and calloused fingers. Steve’s fingers were slender and graceful and a little longer than Buck’s. “Clean your nails, punk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gimme a damn minute, I’m doin’ two other things here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got big ol’ feet too, lemme see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve sighed but shifted back in the tub to pull a leg out. Buck grabbed his ankle and pressed their soles together. “I thought you were gonna help me. If I knew that just meant you were gonna pester me all day I woulda told you to take those extra shifts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky didn’t respond, he was looking oddly focused as he pushed their heels together, studying the difference in their size and shape. That was strange. Steve frowned, but didn’t pull away. “...Hey. Everything okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buck glanced at him again, then beamed real big and let him go, pulling on his shoes and going for his coat. “Yup! I’ll be back in a bit with supplies.” He said. But he was grinning like he’d just pulled off some big feat and Steve didn’t trust that look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah well, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve decided. He had far too many things to worry about than whatever wild idea Bucky had in his head today. He called his goodbye as Buck closed the door behind him and leaned back to finish what he was doing. As usual, Steve let himself get lost in thought as he worked, and soon he had himself and the clothes all cleaned and rung out, leaning over the balcony rail as he pinned the fresh laundry to the line. The day was already warm and breezy, damp linens flapped as he reeled them out into the windy alley. He leaned into the breeze and filled it deep into his lungs. For a moment it smelled divine, like a land beyond the City, somewhere that remembered the rocking waves of the sea, or maybe of trees, he wasn’t sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the itch started in his throat and he started to cough. “Damn it,” he murmured, turning to go back inside and finish tidying up. The cough lingered, throwing up short pangs of irritation that made him sputter and bang on his chest. Steve glanced over at the windowsill, his tin of asthmadors sitting beside Bucky’s Lucky Strikes. If it got worse… But he was nearly out and had forgotten to put them on the list. He shook his head and went about his business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the door opened -- Bucky carefully balancing what Steve immediately regarded as far too many bags for the list -- he’d been at his easel, still working to get that sky right. He set down his brush and moved to help unload. When he went for one bag though, Bucky immediately turned away to hide it. Steve squinted, but decided it was likely something to sweeten up the gal’s tonight. He took a bag and moved to start putting things away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you didn’t happen to grab some asthmadors did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky looked up, alarmed. “No -- are you out? Are you okay? I can go back out --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No -- no. Buck it’s fine. I’m just running low, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bigger man relaxed a little. “Okay. Well. They’re not asthmadors, but I did get you something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve paused but set down the last tin and turned to come see. Bucky was holding something behind his back, watching him approach. Steve squinted at him, but when Buck shifted, there was a box in his hands. It took a minute for Steve to realize what it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Buck -- I thought I told you not to waste your money!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It ain’t a waste if you need it. Look -- look see?” Bucky said, pulling the lid off of the shoebox. They were brown and the scent of leather filled the apartment with its pleasant earthiness. “Try em,” He coaxed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve took the shoes and went to the edge of his bed, Bucky following to sit across from him. As he pushed his foot into the shoe he was surprised to find that his toes actually came to the end. His eyes widened slightly. “...They fit. Buck how did you --?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky smirked. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Thurston,”  Steve teased. He grinned, lacing them up tight and moving to rise onto the balls of his feet. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a pair of shoes that fit. The joy rose in him like electricity, like a flame and he couldn’t keep it from his face. When he glanced over at Bucky, he saw a gentle softness in his eyes. “God I could kiss you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean,” Buck said softly. “...Ya </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve paused, looking at his friend. His friend who worried about his asthmadors, who held him when he had nightmares. His friend who spent money he didn’t have on something Steve could have kept going without. He looked at him, moving slowly to where Bucky sat. Buck shifted his knees apart to let him come closer. Buck who was so selfless, giving away half of his popsicle for him, giving up just so much for him. Buck who had kissed him, not even a day ago. Buck who was looking up at him with such hope in his pale blue eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Buck who would belong to someone else in just a few hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s hand went to the back of Bucky’s neck, slender fingers running through silky dark hair. His eyes questioned Bucky’s for only a moment, before he leaned forward and gently pressed their lips together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was softer than the night before. More delicate, more tender. But no less intense. His heart fluttered in his chest, and that warmth seemed to spread through all of him, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Bucky made a soft sound against him and he felt him push more into the kiss. Steve smiled against Bucky’s lips and slowly drew back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you…” He whispered, before stepping away and out of reach before either of them could get any more bad ideas. Bucky looked dazed, drunk, smiling with a distant, dreamy look in his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah uh.. Yeah…” Bucky said, breathless and almost slurring as Steve walked away to get ready for the date. “Mhm… Any time…”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. No One Will Be Seated</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So there I was, naked as the day I was born and lookin’ about half as pathetic, drippin’ with water and stinkin’ of river gunk. An’ old Stevie, you know what he does?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve was blushing, his ears tingling from the heat as the girls giggled and probed Buck to continue. This story somehow became more wild and painted him in a better light every time Bucky told it. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Buck needed to paint </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> as the hero, but who was he to argue with the storyteller?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’d he do, Bucky?” Vera asked, nudging Steve playfully in the ribs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He comes waltzin’ over, cool as a cucumber. Takes the shirt off his own back and says ‘Like I was sayin’, James Buck, the planks are rotted through.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both girls laughed and Nancy flung herself against Bucky’s side. He laughed and caught her easily, guiding her back to her own feet. They were only a few blocks from the Cinema now, and as usual, Buck had been his charming self. It was impossible to tell why he hadn’t been snapped up by some lucky lady sooner. The gals looked lovely tonight, and Steve had been sure to tell them as much, though he always felt it sounded awkward on his lips. Nancy had of course, been instantly smitten with her partner. Steve had been expecting a less than enthusiastic response from his own date, but Vera was friendly and warm, with a sense of humor that meshed well with the sarcastic tone he’d chosen for the evening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘James Buck’, huh?” She asked, glancing between the two. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky laughed and put on his best sheepish expression. “Yeah. It’s the name I get called when I’m in trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So pretty much the only one he ever hears. If he’s listening at all,” Steve was quick to chime in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?” Bucky asked, brows raised. Then he laughed at his own joke and the gals voices rose up to laugh with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah you’re a pain in my ass that’ll never leave,” Steve teased, grinning himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beside him, he felt Vera take his arm. It was an odd sensation, and though he was an inch or two shorter than her, she somehow made it feel natural. He’d never had a girl willingly take his arm before, and it felt exotic and a little intimidating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw you two are so cute together,” Vera purred, glancing between the two men. Nancy was practically hanging off of Bucky’s arm. “How long you been married for?” She teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve saw the flicker of concern come across Buck’s face and their eyes met. Before he could think, Steve caught himself laughing. “Too long! I keep askin’ for a divorce but he won’t give me one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Relief. “Well cuz who else could keep me in line, Stevie? No one, that’s who. I’d be livin’ in a Hooverville within a week without you.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Hell naw, I caught you I ain’t lettin’ go til some dame pries you from my cold dead hands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nancy’s expression suggested she didn’t find this game quite as amusing as the other three, but Vera simply laughed, tugging Steve closer to her. “Well. I’d better get to prying then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve felt his heart leap into his throat, and he shot a look at Buck, who grinned encouragingly. This had to be a trick or a trap. Gals never looked twice at Steve, less so if they had Bucky to compare him to. His suit didn’t hang on him right, and his hair had refused to cooperate, even with what he considered a liberal amount of Buck’s pommade. But Vera was laughing at his jokes and hadn’t once tried to slip past him to get closer to Bucky. By God she was even </span>
  <em>
    <span>touching</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. This had to be a trap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky recognized the expression and shook his head to himself, glancing up as they approached the box office. He turned and swept away from Nancy to face the others. “If you lovely ladies will excuse me, I need to borrow Mr Rogers here to procure our seats. Come on, Steve.” He said, grabbing the blond by the wrist and tugging him forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind them, Vera laughed and waved. “Goodbye! We’ll miss you forever!” She teased. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky looped an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him close as they waited in line. “Not bad, right? She seems to really like you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve wrinkled his nose up, glancing at Bucky. “I dunno. Ma always said if somethin’ was too good to be true, then it probably is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s sigh was loud enough that the man ahead of them looked over his shoulder. Both boys smiled in tight apology before Bucky leaned closer. “Is it really that hard to imagine that someone might like you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>met</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, right Buck?” Steve asked, raising a brow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky laughed. “I dunno, I’ve been around you for a couple of minutes. But you’re bein’ too hard on yourself. Vera’s nice. And she’s witty and smart and she’s got a sense of humor -- Steve. This might be it.” He said, his brows raised with excitement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve knew he should be excited. He should be beside himself with glee, he should have images of white picket fences and children playing in grass dancing behind his eyes. His imagination should be running wild with all the possibilities of what a night with a willing, eager partner should mean. But instead he was frozen, certain that this would only end in disaster. That maybe this was just some cruel joke. He glanced back at the girls, Nancy was animated in conversation and he could tell even from the distance that she was swooning about Buck. But Vera caught his eye and the way she smiled made his heart jump. There was a tingle like adrenaline, like the feeling right before a fight, all warm and electric, starting in his chest and pulsing down his limbs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pressed himself closer to Buck and heard Vera laugh, but not unkindly. “Buck this doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>happen</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They don’t just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> me for no reason.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you,” Bucky said, content to be his protector against his side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah but you weren’t born with enough common sense to fill a thimble,” Steve grumbled, and he felt the rumble of Bucky’s chuckle in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not like you’re gonna have to pick out curtains or something. Just… relax. Okay?” He asked, smiling at him. “You’re a good person. People like you. It doesn’t have to be scary and it doesn’t have to be final. She’s just a friend. A real nice friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve felt himself start to relax and he nodded slowly, the two stepping forward lockstep as the line moved up. “Okay, Buck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trust me. Just a nice night out with a couple of friends,” He reassured, shaking his shoulders. A slow smile came across Steve’s lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. What do you think of Nancy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Buck’s turn to glance at the girls, but unlike Steve’s bashful attempt to hide, he returned their wave. Smiling, he spoke through clenched teeth. “She’s nice enough. Not my type though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve scoffed, glancing up at him. “Not your type? She’s got a pulse ain’t she?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile dropped and Bucky turned his full attention to him again. “Ah ha ha, you’re just a riot,” he said, unamused. “As it so happens, I have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> specific type.” The two moved forward again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? And what’s that, James Buck?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>How</span>
  </em>
  <span> am I in trou-- nevermind, whatever. Yes. I have a specific type. I like em… Small. With bright eyes. Messy blond hair. More guts than common sense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve refused to read anything into that, glancing back at the girls. Nancy was a brunette with her hair meticulously styled in soft waves. Vera’s red hair was pulled back into a plaited braid, ending in a lovely green ribbon. He turned to look at Bucky curiously. The other man rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya know. The type that would rush into the street to save a kitten from a buggy. The type that would punch a guy in the jaw for stealin’ a sucker from a kid, even if it meant gettin’ creamed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got a real specific type, Buck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And blond,” he said with a wink. “That part’s a stickler.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Steve said thoughtfully. “You find anyone like that yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One,” Bucky said, watching the couple ahead of them pay for their tickets. “But unfortunately, small and gutsy and brave tends to also mean thick as a brick wall. So I’m destined to be alone forever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes. “Maybe you should lower your expectations a little.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never,” Buck said. “I found the one I want. I ain’t giving that up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve had questions, but it was their turn at the counter and Bucky was buying the tickets, handing some of the change over to Steve with instructions to take Vera to the concession stand. When Steve didn’t immediately move, Bucky took him by the shoulder and physically spun Steve towards the girls, poking him in the spine to make him stand straighter. Vera and Nancy were giggling again and Steve felt his legs lock in place, unable to move. Then Bucky was walking bodily into him and all at once he was forced forward. From the corner of his eye he could see Buck’s casual saunter. His own felt like the march of a condemned prisoner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve got this, Stevie,” Bucky murmured as they approached. “She’s a woman not an wolverine.” Steve wasn’t so sure. A woman, yes. But a woman who was looking at him in amusement instead of disgust. The look Nancy kept giving him -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was more of the speed he was used to. All too soon the distance was cleared and Bucky wasted no time offering his arm to Nancy. Steve had long since stopped being surprised at how quickly mild disgust could turn to glee when the focus shifted off of himself and onto his suave partner. As the couple split off, Steve felt a surge of betrayal, realizing that he was all alone, facing down his greatest challenge yet: conversation with a woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve looked at Vera, and not once did her eyes follow Nancy and Bucky with envy. Not once did she glance around for an escape. Steve thought he might though, if he dared to look away from her. Instead, she smiled at him patiently, her hands clasped before her on her neatly pressed mint dress. It was pretty, with little white flowers, and Steve caught himself wondering how the flowers were printed. Did they get dyed on the swathes of fabric or were they woven in? And how did they know how many threads to make the pattern look just right? The tips of the petals were sharp and --</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Focus, Steven</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve cleared his throat, and Vera’s brows raised in calm anticipation. “Do…” He cleared his throat. His mouth was dry. “Do uh… Do you…” The entirety of the English language abandoned his skull as he looked up at patient brown eyes. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. He’d never gotten this far before and he didn’t know what to do next. He glanced over his shoulder for Bucky, but he was nowhere to be found. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do…?” Vera coaxed gently. What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> with this woman?? She should have scoffed or fled or abandoned this endeavour entirely but </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she didn’t have the sense God gave a fly and she just </span>
  <em>
    <span>stood</span>
  </em>
  <span> there, patiently waiting for Steve to relearn how to Human. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you uh,” he tried again. Finally he blurted out a syllable, but if it was an actual word, it didn’t belong in any lexicon he was familiar with. Vera just giggled and he looked at her as if she were mad. But regardless, he tried again. “Do you food?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waited for the scowl, but yet again she disappointed him. Instead her lips turned up into a smile and he worried for her sanity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> been known to food,” she agreed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bark of a laugh escaped him and he stared at her in absolute disbelief. “Do... you want to food?” He looked around the lobby, spotting the lovely display of red and white bags of popcorn and candies. “Would you like some…” Something short circuited in his brain, and the name of the snack suddenly escaped him completely. He felt his eyes go blank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like some…” It was white. It was crunchy. “Would you like…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A food?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No -- I mean yeah but --” White. Crunchy. He snapped his fingers, desperate to try and piece together what he’d lost. It was salty and crunchy and buttery -- “Butter!” He said, eyes wide. “Do you want butter uh… ….grain?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vera stared at him. Steve was certain that if he left right now, he could make it to Canada and start a new life under an assumed identity. Maybe as a moose herder. That was a thing right? He could be a nomad and --</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would love some butter grain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> this girl?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a dull ache in his hand and he realized that he was clutching the coins so tightly that his knuckles were white. His joints creaked slightly as he pried his fingers open and the metal disks had left imprints in his palm. Steve mentally counted the money, there was nearly two dollars there. Plenty to spoil his date. He grinned, suddenly confident. New plan. All he had to do was act like Bucky would. That should be easy enough, he’d seen Bucky act suave so often some of it should have rubbed off on him by now, right? All he had to do was say it like Bucky would. Offer to treat her to popcorn and a candy. Maybe slip in a sly joke about how even the chocolates wouldn’t be as sweet as her. Yeah that would work! Just like Bucky would say it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve smiled at Vera. Vera smiled right back. He drew a breath, he put his shoulders back. Just like Bucky. He’d say he had enough coin to spoil such a pretty girl. Perfect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Channelling his best Bucky, he declared, “I have a money.” No. Not like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve groaned and covered his face with his free hand, but Vera simply giggled again. “You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>multiple </span>
  </em>
  <span>money,” She observed cheerfully. “Do you think if we give them money they’ll give us foods?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve gave up, letting his hand fall from his forehead. “Butter grain?” He asked meekly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm! And maybe sugar water.” She offered. His brain felt like a crashing zeppelin and it took him a few heartbeats to realize that she meant a soda. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should… Should we see if they’ll take our monies for butter grain and sugar water?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we should,” she took his arm again and gently lead him to the new line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think they’re going to want more than one money,” Steve said, attempting to joke. She was an easy and gracious partner, making a show of considering his words seriously before nodding in confirmation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They might want two whole monies,” she said, acting concerned. “What if they want a big one?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, can’t have the big ones. They can have the little ones,” he said, poking a dime with his thumb. “Or a fat one.” She looked over his shoulder and grinned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about the red ones?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m keepin’ those. They’re pretty, they match your hair.” Vera’s giggle changed pitch, surprised and authentic and Steve realized he had successfully flirted. Confidence swelled in him and he grinned at her. Now to keep it going. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve fished in his palm for the shiniest penny, then offered it out to her. “Here. It’s almost as pretty as you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again the compliment landed and the blush came into her cheeks. Maybe this wasn’t so difficult after all. He was grinning so hard his face actually hurt. He could get used to this, maybe. Ahead of them, he could see Bucky and Nancy. She was swooning all over him, practically hanging on him, but he simply patted the back of her arm and indulged what seemed to be a one-sided conversation. Meanwhile, Vera ran her thumb over the coin as if it was suddenly worth so much more than its face value.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s brow knit. “...How come someone like you ain’t got a boyfriend already?” He asked. The moment it was out of his mouth he realized how offensive that sounded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vera laughed, though she seemed a little surprised. “What, it’s not obvious?” She asked. Steve gave his head the slightest of shakes. “I’m… kinda weird. Guys don’t like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like it,” he replied with a shrug. “Besides, I’m weird too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, you certainly are. Why don’t you have a gal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you three guesses and the first two don’t count. What about Nancy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vera’s brown eyes drifted towards the other couple and she sighed. “It’s not from lack of trying, I suppose.” But there was a strange note in her voice he couldn’t quite place. It sounded familiar, almost akin to loneliness. Then all at once, it was gone. “And Buck?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not from lack of trying,” Steve repeated, but he heard the weariness in his own tone. “I dunno. He’s picky, I guess. Got a real particular type, he says. But… I dunno, doesn’t seem to matter all that much. Doesn’t matter how sweet the gal is, never seems to last more than a date or two.” He paused, looking at her. “Not -- he’s not a cad or anything, he’s a real upstanding fella but… I dunno. It just never seems to work out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vera was watching him, and slowly she looked back at Bucky and Nancy. As she did, Bucky’s own eyes were scanning the room, hunting for something. When they fell on Steve and Vera a few yards behind them in line, there was a flicker of relief in his eyes. They both waved, and Bucky waved in response. Nancy tightened her grip on him. Vera’s smile warmed. “I think I know why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve raised a blond brow. “Why?” Bucky had finished paying and the two slipped away to wait for them. Vera grinned and tapped a delicately rounded nail to the tip of Steve’s nose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no reason. Let’s just call it Woman’s Intuition.” She said and gave him a gentle tug forward as the line moved up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was still puzzling over what she could mean by that when she was nudging his ribs. He looked up and realized it was their turn. And once again, he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be doing. “One uh. Two please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man behind the counter paused, then gestured to the multitude of options before him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh! Uh. Two uh. ...uh…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two buttered grain,” Vera piped up beside him. The man studied her for a moment, and Steve recognized the judgemental confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We have multiple money.” Steve added with exaggerated severity, giving a grim nod. When presented with two idiots instead of just one, the concessions man decided it would make his day far more pleasant to just play along. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And two sugar waters,” Vera said, emboldened by Steve’s support. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, what flavor?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s brain blanked in earnest this time. He knew he didn’t want a lemon lime or an orange soda, but the name completely escaped him. He looked up at Vera, but she was busy with her own decision. Scanning the bottles, the words suddenly made no sense. Colors and shapes blurred together like foreign hieroglyphs. And he had been doing so good, too. Deflating a little, he wilted under the man’s eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...brown…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vera laughed beside him and patted his arm gently. “Two colas please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve handed over the coins with minimal effort, though Vera did have to swap a nickle for a dime from his palm. Soon they had their popcorn and their sodas and after an attempt or two, Steve was able to replicate Bucky’s neat trick with the pocket knife to open them. He couldn’t resist a whoop of victory as he did and laughed as Vera echoed it, walking with him to join the other two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Our hunt was successful!” She announced loudly, and Nancy groaned and hid her face against Bucky’s arm. Buck’s brows shot to his hairline and he laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was it now?” He asked, as if he was struggling to understand what he was seeing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We come bearing buttered grain!” Steve announced, feeding off of her antics. “And brown sugar water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Veronica Crosby, can I take you </span>
  <em>
    <span>anywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span> and not worry about you acting like a fool?” Nancy wailed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boys both saw the flicker across Vera’s face. Bucky took a subconscious step away from Nancy, but Steve huffed. “She’s hardly a fool, she’s the smartest gal I’ve ever met. Buck--” he said, turning his focus intentionally to his friend. “Did you know that you can trade money for foods?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s jaw dropped. “What?? And all this time I’ve been fightin’ the raccoons in the alley. When did you find this out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well ya know those metal bits people keep handin’ to ya?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turns out people collect ‘em. They like the shiny ones, they’ll give ya all kinds of things for em.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like crows do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Just</span>
  </em>
  <span> like crows, Buck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, I don’t believe it. Vera, you’re fillin’ his head with nonsense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time Vera hesitated. Steve could tell that Nancy’s words had cut her deeper than she wanted to let on, and when she finally tittered, it sounded more forced than it had been before. “Ah his head was already plenty full of nonsense before you handed him off to me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>James Buck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky considered the accusation, studying Steve severely for a moment. “Suppose I can’t argue that. Shall we go find our seats?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a murmur of agreement, and the two couples moved to walk side by side. Bucky shifted so that he was between Steve and Nancy and gently nudged him. When Steve looked up, Bucky grinned and winked, and Steve felt that warm tingling again. It started in his chest and made his heart forget to beat for a moment. And then they were filtering into the theater to find their seats, settling into the red velvet to watch the newsreels.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Steve’s right was Vera playfully making a show of stealing the most pristine of his popcorn pieces. Eventually he realized the game was meant to go both ways and stole right back from hers. To his left was Bucky, settling into the seat with the same casual ease that he did everything with. As the theater filled slowly, the news reels showed the happenings from all over the world. Floods in California, war breaking out in Europe. The exotic Orient was having their own share of problems, but Steve was distracted by the movement on either side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vera had settled down, and when he glanced at her, she had a calm, easy smile. The brightness in those brown eyes seemed to make her entire face glow. Or maybe it was just the shine from the silver screen. To his left, Bucky had slid down comfortably in his seat, his bag of popcorn resting against his stomach. Nancy had both arms looped around his bicep, her head resting on his shoulder. Steve refused to acknowledge the twinge of jealousy in his stomach. Gals made it look so easy, but he supposed maybe it was. It was so simple to fall under Bucky’s spell, his charming smile, his bright, curious eyes, his cunning humor. How easy it would be to loop himself around that strong arm like Nancy did, to settle in to that comfort he wanted so badly. But this wasn’t ancient Greece, this was civilized America and the rules were different. He sighed and slouched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nudge in his arm surprised him and he blinked, surprised to find that Vera was not only still there, but had neither read the forbidden thoughts in his mind nor changed her mind about him now that they were seated. “Look!” she gasped in his ear, her arms coiling around his. She smelled faintly of the sugary cola, of a fine perfume that reminded him of soft vanilla. Vera jostled him slightly and he looked up, raising both brows. What was she talking about? Oh right, the screen. That would make sense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing impossibly tall and proud, with his well-groomed moustache and dark hair so elegantly coiffed that it looked both chiseled from granite and deceptively casual, stood Howard Stark, the famed inventor. Steve had missed the first portion, but the newsman was speaking of his latest inventions, how Stark would single handedly change the face of America and with it, the World. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you </span>
  <em>
    <span>imagine?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Vera breathed to him and he felt himself melt just a little. “He’s like a God…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Blasphemer,” he teased back, and she giggled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No. Just a heathen, talkin’ like that.” He said reaching across himself to steal more of her popcorn. She stole right back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a rustle to his left and he turned in time to feel his temple bump against Bucky’s. “Okay so I just had a thought --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did it hurt?” Steve whispered back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excruciating,” Bucky said, bumping his head against Steve’s again, this time with purpose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your thought, Buck?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay so -- so if I’m Buck Barnes the Space Ranger --” Steve groaned. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If I’m Buck Barnes, what if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the evil Killer Kane?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve rolled his eyes, but kept his head against Bucky’s as the other man spoke. “So you’re casting Howard Stark -- no. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sinister Stark</span>
  </em>
  <span> as your villain?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah! I mean he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>as dashing as me--” he waited for Steve to finish his labored sigh. “He’s got all these clever contraptions -- Oh hey ‘Sinister Stark’, that’s not bad at all. He’d be perfect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I ever meet him, I’ll be sure to let him know,” Steve said, deadpan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah you do that. While he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>got you in his clutches!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve shifted just enough so that he could see Bucky’s playful blue eyes. At this close proximity, they bled together into one, but that only seemed to amplify the joy in them. He felt his own breath wash back against himself as he sighed on Bucky’s cheek. “I dunno, Buck, how you gonna save me from someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>so nefarious?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sinister,” came the quick correction. “And I dunno,” Bucky said, straightening up, his face going stern with thoughtfulness. “Gonna have to really use my noggin for that one…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If that’s the case, I’m doomed.” Steve slouched again, just as the house lights started to go down. Vera settled in comfortably beside him, he could feel her leg against the side of his own. Bucky shifted on his other side, and Steve moved to catch his soda bottle as his hand was taken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky slotted their fingers together, shifting their hands between their own thighs out of view. Steve could feel the roughness of his calloused palms, the strength in his grip from hours upon hours of manual labor. Steve’s own felt almost fine and soft in comparison. Bucky shifted until their palms were pressed flat together, the tips of his fingers pressing into the back of his hand, his coarse thumb delicately caressing the back of Steve’s own, running from knuckle to nail tip and over and over again. Steve could feel the pulse in Bucky’s wrist against his own. He let out a deep, relaxed sigh. If this was a dream, he wasn’t sure he wanted to wake up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve worried that it would all move too fast. That soon it would all be over. But time seemed to move at just the right pace. He laughed along to Bimbo and Betty Boop, he fell into an awestruck trance watching Ginger Rogers and Ralph Bellamy move with such effortless grace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At one point Vera leaned to him and joked at a whisper if he was related to the actress on screen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh of course, don’t you see the resemblance?” He scoffed. She giggled and nudged him playfully. “You’re related to Bing Crosby, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah. Can’t you see the resemblance?” She teased right back. “He got all the singing genes though. I sound like a cat trapped in a storm drain.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve laughed. “Well Ginger got all the dancing talents. I’ve got two left feet, both which are borrowed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky shifted beside them, pulling out his pack of Lucky Strikes with his free hand. He took one himself, then offered the pack to the others. Even though he knew Steve would turn them down, he still extended the gesture. Each of the gal’s took one, and Steve leaned closer to Bucky, knowing his friend would always blow the smoke away from him. Their group was far from the only one who had the idea to light a cigarette, and by the time the movie was reaching the halfway point, there was a familiar grey haze in the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve didn’t mind. He didn’t care for the smell, but the smoke was supposed to be good for his asthma. Bucky intentionally picked Lucky Strikes because the physicians on the advertisements had claimed they were the best for sensitive and tender throats. So why did his chest start to twitch and burn like this? Steve tried to suppress the cough, to hide it in his fist, but when he inhaled sharply, his lungs suddenly felt like fire. Bucky immediately snuffed his own, glancing at him worriedly, no longer interested in the movie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But one cigarette was just a drop in the ocean, and Steve already felt a full blown coughing fit coming on. He needed fresh air, and carefully he untangled himself from his seat, nodding his thanks to Vera as she took his bag of popcorn and his soda bottle, watching him with concern. He tried to whisper that he just needed air, that he’d be back, but all that came out was a strangled sound and he had to make do with a gesture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Scrambling out into the aisle as quickly as he could, he made his way through the lobby and out the front, gulping in breath after breath of fresh air. The smoke clung to his skin and clothes, but his lungs tingled and itched. Moving out of the way of the line of movie goers waiting to buy tickets, he leaned on a light pole to cough and hack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A firm hand landed on his shoulder, and he felt a pang of guilt. He didn’t have to look up to know that Bucky had followed him out. “I didn’t remember to bring my asthmadors,” Steve panted to him, coughing again, more violently this time. “Do you have them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky patted his own pockets down, but Steve already knew the answer. “No. No I’m sorry, look, we can head to the druggist, there’s one not far from here --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not leaving the gals alone,” Steve said, but the firmness in his tone was broken by another coughing fit. “I’ll go. Tell Vera I’m sorry, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky looked down at him, his face as miserable as if the entire date had been cancelled. As if somehow this was all Buck’s fault. “Okay but -- if you feel better, you’ll come back, yeah?” He reached over to rub Steve’s back as if that could soothe the spasms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah… Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve paused, then sighed miserably. “Then I’ll be home before you are. Make sure the girls get home okay, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky frowned, then reached into his pocket and shoved some coins into Steve’s hands, pulling him close to press their foreheads together. “Be safe… And I’ll see you at home, if not sooner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve looked at him, then pocketed the cash, before nodding and reluctantly drawing away to head up the street. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Even when a date was going great -- almost magically so -- Steve could find a way to ruin it. He heaved a sigh, punctuated with another violent cough, and slouched his shoulders as he walked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d done this walk before, his own personal walk of shame, but never had he felt actual disappointment to be the one breaking up the double date, instead of just relief. Vera was sweet, he could see himself spending more time with her. Bucky had been in rare form, and the whole evening for once felt smooth and natural. Until his damnable body betrayed him again. Steve decided that maybe a sulk was warranted. Just this once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, maybe he could stick it out. Get to the druggist. Get his asthmadors and get this cough under control. Sure he’d miss a chunk of the movie, but either they’d catch him up, or maybe he and Buck could go see it again some time. When there were less people. And when he had his medication with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve had almost finished his plan, his spirits starting to rise again, when a familiar sound rattled him out of his thoughts. The hollow crash of metal, like cans being thrown, and a trio of voices rising in argument. Steve recognized one of them, but moreso, he recognized the sound of a fight. Without thinking, he turned in the direction of the sound. Asthmadors could wait. Someone needed help. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Man of the Future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Now now, Fellas, I really only needed one voluntee-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoa!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voice was unfamiliar, silky with an accent that was almost Transatlantic. Steve turned the corner towards it just in time to dodge. A mountain of a man lumbered his way through a clumsy punch and staggered into the cluster of trash cans. The metal scattered with a deafening raucous. The brute’s intended target had managed to dip gracefully out of the way, and when he straightened, Steve could only gasp and stare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Donning a tailored vest and gartered shirtsleeves stood a man who looked like he’d just walked off the silver screen. Out of place among the stench of piss and garbage juice, he seemed amused and unaware of the precarious situation he’d found himself in. A second thug simply watched, his fists slowly clenching and unclenching at his sides, sizing up the situation and waiting for his moment to take over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve made himself visible, taking in the situation. Two brutes against one dapper fellow, and if the wobble in their stance and inability to blink properly hadn’t tipped him off to their level of intoxication, then the stink that preceded them certainly did. Steve had no idea how this fight had started, but he’d been around the block enough times to know how it would end if he didn’t intervene. The Dapper Man was fidgeting with his cuffs, and his dodge had manuevered him into an unenviable position further into the alley. Though trundling, Steve had seen the way the stonework trembled when the big drunk’s fist had connected with brick. In his mind, he saw over and over again what a punch like that could have done to such a handsome face. The Dapper Man might not be so lucky next time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now now, I know numbers can be hard, lads,” the man was saying, and Steve felt his jaw go slack. Maybe there were three drunks in the alley instead of two. Either way, he needed to move fast. “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>typically speaking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, ‘one’ is this many fingers.” The Dapper Man held up a single digit. “While two is </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> many.” A second finger uncurled to join the first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thugs didn’t appreciate the remedial math lesson, and moved in unison to block his exit. The air was thick with the rumble of their dangerous growl. Steve looked around, then ducked to grab the lid of a trash can, adjusting the handle in his grip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One,” the man said, holding up a single finger. “And two. Here, let’s go again slowly.” They were bearing down on him and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>baiting</span>
  </em>
  <span> them. The man had a death wish, and as he rolled up his sleeves, Steve noticed that wasn’t all he had. A strange device was affixed to his forearm, nodules glowing faintly blue, like polished pale gems, or like electricity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One,” the man said, holding up a finger. The device looked expensive. And the thugs had noticed too. A spark of greed surfaced through the glaze of alcohol. They would avenge their wounded pride and take the strange jewelry to trade for more liquor. “And….” The man shifted his other hand, holding up two digits as he stretched his arm above his head, his eyes holding a spark of their own. The arm with the jewelry extended towards them, hand curled into a fist, but their eyes followed the one moving higher. His form was graceful, reminiscent of a fencer, but the two meatheads followed with their own form of finesse, thick fists curled into sledges. The motion happened all at once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The brute who had punched the wall was hesitant to do so again, but his friend did not share his trepidation. The blow came fast, cutting through the air with the power of a freight engine, but the Dapper Man did not back down. Instead he smiled. “Two,” he growled through curved lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blow rang out, not with the wet slap of flesh on flesh, but with a high metallic clang that rang through the night. The brute found his fist stopped by a flimsy tin shield, a new figure blocking him from his prey. Steve’s new shoes skidded on the slick alley stones, and the force of the punch had dented the lid and rattled every bone in his skinny body. The Dapper Man cried out in surprise and protest, Steve’s sudden appearance had knocked his arm wide. Near his ear, something shot past with a high pitched </span>
  <em>
    <span>vip</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like a cockroach bred with a rat. There was a soft clatter, then a blast of blueish white and a vicious pop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, what the hell?? What gives?” the Dapper Man balked as the thug yanked his hand free of the dented metal. The two lunks blinked in surprise. First there was one. Now there were two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Saving your life. I’ll distract them, slip around behind and go. If you head west there’s a cinema a few blocks from here. They won’t risk trouble in a crowd,” Steve commanded, not taking his eyes off of the lout who was shaking out his fist. To his dismay, the Dapper Man simply scoffed in disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Saving</span>
  </em>
  <span> me? Kid, where did you come from?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first man had found his courage again and came lunging for them. Steve put himself between them and banged noisily on the lid to hold his attention. “Hey! Hey! Over here!” he barked, before sparing a glance over his shoulder. “I ain’t a kid -- just go, will ya? I got this!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But the Dapper Man just levelled his arm with the strange jewelry at the charging brute, bracing himself with one arm on Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah no, I don’t think you do.” There was another </span>
  <em>
    <span>vip,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and this time Steve saw his arm jerk with recoil. Something dark struck the man on the throat, and in a moment there was another spark of bluish-white and the thug stopped in his tracks, crying out as his knees buckled and his joints curled. He hit the ground twitching, two long strings connecting the dark beetle on his throat to the jewelry. The Dapper Man ripped the strings free and shifted to line up another shot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really think you’re bein’ a hero here, don’t you kid?” the Dapper Man groused, staying behind Steve as he waited for an opportunity on the second. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop calling me ‘kid’,” Steve growled in response.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Grow into that monkey suit and I’ll consider it. Hold still, I’m trying to aim.” The man’s grip on his shoulder tightened, and if Steve had a retort, it was lost against the more pressing matter at hand. The buffoon gaped at his fallen friend, but if he were ever a cautious man, that version of himself was now drowned in whiskey and rage. “Regular Knight Templar out here with your tincan shield.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you do to him?” Steve cried, bringing up the lid just in time to deflect a second blow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another </span>
  <em>
    <span>vip</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and this time Steve could smell the stink of ozone in his nostrils. Adrenaline had made his lungs forget their plight, but all at once it came back, gagging him and forcing him into a vicious coughing jag. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said I only needed </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> volunteer!” the Dapper Man complained. There was an intense crackling sound coming from somewhere, and Steve looked up to see the big thug seizing where he stood, eyes bulging from their sockets, every muscle quivering with his arms stretched wide and digits splayed. Then all at once it stopped and he collapsed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>ready</span>
  </em>
  <span> to test the reload capacity or the rapid fire capability. God, you can’t force progress just cuz you don’t like counting!” the Dapper Man bitched, pulling the strings free again and glaring moodily. He let out a rush through his nose. “Ah, but I suppose Science marches ever forward. And Necessity is the mother of Invention.” Grumbling, he fidgeted with his device. “What a bitch she is…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve was struggling to breathe, the burning tightness that had tormented him returning all at once, and the Dapper Man finally deigned to look at him. With a sigh, he grabbed Steve by the back of the shirt collar and pulled him to his feet. “Hey. Come on, none of that. You weren’t even hit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m --” Steve coughed. “I’m fine,” he said with a wheeze, struggling to get his breathing under control. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.” The Dapper Man shifted aside, squatting to pull the bug thing off of the nearest man’s throat, wrapping the strings around it and sticking it in his pocket. “What is it? Asthma?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Steve admitted between gasps, forcing slow, deep breaths. The stench of the alley didn’t make it easy. But the Dapper Man’s expression softened. He seemed to consider something for a moment, then just shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right. Go get that Spider Bite that you shot into the puddle and mindful of the wires. They’re worth more than your life. Bring it back and come with me. I’ll fix your cough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something about his tone made Steve bristle, but he moved to collect the node anyhow. “I don’t need your charity,” Steve growled, but if the Dapper Man felt appropriately growled at, he didn’t show it.</span>
  <span></span>
    <br/>
  
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Uh huh. And I didn’t need yours, so this makes us even.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve crouched and picked up the device, a strange round disk with jagged legs around the rim. Spent, they curled inward, giving it the appearance of a dead bug. In the back were the two odd strings he’d noticed before, some sort of fine metal coated with thin rubber. He carefully gathered the strings up and brought the whole mess back to the Dapper Man. He stifled another cough with his fist as he handed them over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of ‘charity’,” the Dapper Man muttered, and he drew a billfold from his pocket. Steve couldn’t help but do a double take at the thickness of it, watching as the man selected two crisp five dollar bills, tucking one into the collar of each thug. “Thank you for your service, gents. Good luck with that headache, it’s gonna be a doozy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning on his well-polished heel, the Dapper Man started to stalk back out of the alley. When Steve didn’t move to follow, he paused, looking over his shoulder. “Well? You coming? Hurry up, we’re burning daylight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s chest was painfully tight, but he reluctantly strode to catch up. “It’s nighttime.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And it’s a figure of speech,” the Dapper Man snapped, popping his vest straighter and rolling down his sleeves, buttoning his cuffs with minimal effort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve followed, but it was no longer the alley’s stink that wrinkled his nose. It was suspicion. A burn and a spasm in his chest forced him to stop, doubling over as he hacked through another pang. The man turned to watch, curling one lip as he studied him. Steve was regrettably familiar with that expression. It was the same one given to stray cats in the gutter, a mix of desire to help and a stronger desire to not risk the fleas. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re barking like a sea lion. We gotta get you fixed up.” The Dapper Man moved closer a few steps to allow Steve to regain his footing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t need your help,” Steve said again, but again the note of aggression in his tone simply slid off the stranger’s back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah well, it wasn’t a request. That level of selfless idiocy deserves some kind of reward.” He took two steps forward, glanced back to make sure he was being followed, then nodded in approval. “You got a name, or am I gonna call you Sir Galahad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve,” Steve answered. “Steve Rogers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I prefer ‘Galahad’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve bristled, but decided to let the jab drop. “I didn’t catch yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s because I didn’t throw it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they stepped out of the alley onto the sidewalk, the breeze caught them, and Steve drew in a deep breath despite the burning in his chest. As if on cue, a sleek black automobile drifted up to the curb and stopped silently. Steve had never seen a Jaguar before, but he recognized that this vehicle was more than just expensive. It was prohibitively so. There was a luster to the machine, an elegance to the way it seemed to crouch on its own wheels, like a big cat lurking in shadows. Steve was reluctant to get nearer, certain that somehow he would scuff or break or otherwise damage the car. He suspected that while the remaining dollar and change in his pocket would be enough to impress a date, it wouldn’t even cover the cost of detailing on such a beautiful vehicle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The driver’s side door opened and a man got out, clipping carefully around the front of the car to meet them. At first, Steve thought perhaps this new man was the Dapper Man’s friend. After all, they certainly looked cut from a similar cloth. The driver wore a sharp three piece suit in an understated brown, accented by a tie the color of stove embers that was tucked into his vest. His features were sharp, but he still somehow managed to look meek as he opened the rear door with a handkerchief, inclining his head to the Dapper Man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I trust your trials went well, sir?” the driver asked, then glanced over Dapper Man’s shoulder at Steve. “Do we have a guest this evening?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing the two beside each other now, Steve felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. This man wasn’t just some idiot with fancy jewelry picking fights in an alley. He was someone important. Someone who he had sorely misjudged. When the man turned to inspect Steve as if acknowledging him for the first time, Steve found himself forced to reevaluate his own initial impression. This was no drunken fop with more money than sense.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was a man of exceptional consequence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt two pairs of eyes rove over him for a moment. Whatever the driver’s thoughts, he kept them well hidden under a veil of polite neutrality. The other man wore his judgement openly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Jarvis, I think we do. Is the prototype aerosolizer still in the back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe so, sir,” the driver, Jarvis, said. Obediently, he strode briskly to the trunk and opened it. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off the man he’d saved though, even while his own breathing was coming in short, tight gasps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you?” Steve asked, and the man scoffed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Weren’t you listening? I’m the Queen of England. Now get in the damn Jag,” he said, slipping through the door and into the vehicle proper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve hesitated, frozen in place watching Jarvis at the trunk. Was he dreaming? He was being instructed to enter an unfamiliar vehicle with someone who could probably buy his entire shitty apartment building. Steve took a tentative step forward, then paused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jarvis was closing the trunk, holding a container about the size of a shoebox, before returning to his post by the door and holding it open. Steve took another step. The Dapper Man leaned out the door, dark brows rising to his hairline.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, not to sound impatient, but if I was wearing a watch, I’d be looking at my wrist </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> condescendingly right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was enough to light a fire under him, and Steve nodded his thanks to Jarvis as he slipped into the back seat with the strange man, trying not to let the confused mix of emotions show on his face. Awe at the opulence all around him. Begrudging respect to the man who had </span>
  <em>
    <span>acquired</span>
  </em>
  <span> such opulence. And the ever-present undercurrent of annoyance towards the man who had acquired such opulence.  The driver waited for him to settle, then bent down to follow him into the back of the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pardon my reach, Mister…?” Jarvis paused, and it took Steve a moment to realize he was being prompted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, uh. Rogers. Steve Rogers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Charmed, Mister Rogers,” Jarvis said politely. There was a note of sincerity to his tone that made it hard not to like him. And then he was moving to hand the box across Steve’s lap with a keen sort of grace. “Mister Stark, your prototype aerosolizer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, Jarvis,” came the reply, and Stark took the box into his lap, opening it up. It took a moment for the name to register, but when it did, Steve felt his brain short circuit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stark. As in Howard Stark?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The one and only.” His tone was dismissive and distracted, more interested in opening the box. Inside was a device that resembled a perfume bottle, resting in a velvet lining. It had a bevelling around the bottom that caught the light, and a textured rubber bulb that appeared to be a hand pump of some sort. That was where the similarities ended. Where the diffuser normally would be was instead a short length of rubber tubing that ended in a small cup that looked designed to fit over the nose and mouth. It was a curious contraption, and for a moment, Steve thought it looked like what a gas mask designed for a night at the opera would look like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was, however, currently more interested in gawking at the man. Now that he was able to take a good look at him, Steve felt foolish to not have realized his identity right away. But then again, how often does one end up in an alley protecting one of the sharpest minds of their time from street thugs. Sparing a glance from his device, Stark smirked as he noticed Steve’s stare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right, go ahead and marvel. It doesn’t cost anything to look, after all. I know the effect I have,” he said, stretching out luxuriously and more than a little dramatically as he ran a hand over his dark chestnut hair. “I know it must be intimidating coming nose to nose with the greatness that is Howard Stark, genius of our time, Vanity Fair’s Most Eligible Bachelor for five years running--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kept talking but Steve was gasping again, coughing a shallow, barking cough, trying to get his breath. Jarvis had resumed his position in the driver’s seat, and as the engine rumbled to life he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mister Stark, but was there perhaps a reason why you required the aerosolizer?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-- winner of no less than -- huh?” Howard sat up, looking at Jarvis and then Steve’s gasping. “Oh yeah. Here, put this over your nose and mouth.” He took the glass cup and fitted it over Steve’s face, guiding his hand up to hold it in place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exhale,” Howard instructed, and when Steve did, he squeezed the bulb. A strange, sharp-smelling mist filled the cup. “And breathe in and hold it -- it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> ‘hold it’, right Jarvis?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed, sir, those are the instructions I recall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve did as told, and he felt his pulse quicken and his lungs loosen. His chest trembled, but as he held his breath, he felt the burning and irritation subside. When Howard prompted, he let it out in a rush. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was that?” Steve gasped, taking in deep breaths, testing his lungs to see if they rebelled. Whatever was in the mist, it helped substantially. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, I don’t know the particulars of the chemical compound, I just designed the delivery system. And it’s a good thing I did too. Do you have any idea how rude it is to interrupt a man by dying when he’s trying to introduce himself? You know, I’m doing you a service, Rogers, the least you could do is stay alive until I’m done,” he scoffed. “People these days.” But he was smirking, a well practiced smirk with a matching arch to his brow that reminded Steve of Bucky. Howard reached to take back the device now that Steve’s condition was under control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve stared at him, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wow</span>
  </em>
  <span>… You know, I didn’t think it was possible but… You really </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>that…” He trailed off, hunting for the word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard was more than eager to assist, his grin widening. “Suave? Genius? Debonair?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Arrogant’ was the word I was looking for,” Steve said, nodding thoughtfully to himself. “Yeah. Arrogant. It’s amazing, really. I thought it was just the movie reels.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s face fell, and he saw Jarvis’ reflection shift in the mirror as he looked up to watch him. Steve was certain his time in the luxury sedan had been cut incredibly short. Then all at once, Stark was laughing, closing up the box and setting it on the floorboards. “Oh I </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, kid. You’ve got spirit. Hustle needs work, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something about that laugh that brought Steve’s guard down. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it. Or just the fact that he was no longer distracted by an inability to breathe. Or maybe it was because Howard was moving again, manipulating a small hidden button near the door that caused a panel to unfold. A shelf extended, crystal glasses and liquor bottles sparkling under an electric light bulb. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your poison, friend?” Howard asked, picking through his bottles thoughtfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh uh -- I don’t really --” But Howard was rolling his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh, let me speed this up for you. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly!’” he said in a poor impression of Steve’s voice. “Oh no I insist, please. A drink is the least I could offer. ‘Well, if you insist, I’ll have a…’” Howard smirked, gesturing to Steve with an empty glass. In the front, Jarvis chucked softly. “Finish the line.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve fumbled a little, shaking his head. “I uh -- gin?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s nose wrinkled up. “What are you, on a diet?” He sighed and set about pouring a drink that was decidedly not gin. “You’re hopeless, you know that? Good thing I came along when I did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s jaw dropped. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> came along? I seem to recall --” A glass of golden liquid was shoved into his hand and he stuttered. “Thanks. I seem to recall it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> getting backed into a corner by not one, but two lunks who could and probably do bench press cars like this for fun.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s not my fault the American education system is a joke. I asked for </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> volunteer. One!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could have gotten hurt,” Steve said sternly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, it would have been fine. Turns out my little gizmo has plenty of stopping power after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if it didn’t?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard gave an irritatingly casual shrug. Again Steve was reminded of Bucky. “I would have figured something out. What’s the worst that could happen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Howard,” Steve said, and a distant part of him wondered if he was being too familiar with this man he’d just met. But Howard’s brows rose in amusement as he took a long sip of his drink. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> those men. I’ve seen them, I’ve seen what they can do to a person.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard chuckled, plucking a maraschino cherry from a dish and sucking on it lazily. “Enlighten me,” he said around it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I hadn’t shown up, they would have broken both your knee caps --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ow. I like my knee caps.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-- taken your little toy --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Very</span>
  </em>
  <span> expensive, and my lawyers are pretty overworked as it stands already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-- and </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably</span>
  </em>
  <span> splattered your brains all over the alleyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That caused Howard to grimace. “Yeah, that part sounds bad. I feel like my brains are important. Jarvis, brains are important, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, terribly important sir. Although you do seem to be getting along rather well without yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard gave a sarcastic laugh, but Steve grinned. He decided he liked this Jarvis guy, and brought his glass up to his lips. He had been expecting the sharp sting of alcohol, but instead it was smooth, oakey, and very warming. Expensive. Like everything else around him. He felt his muscles twitch and release one by one, and with a content sigh he found himself almost melting into the leather upholstery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s more like it,” Howard said, lounging lazily on the other side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is pretty good…” Steve murmured as he took another deep drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’d better be, I paid enough for it,” Howard grumbled, but it didn’t sound sincere. “So we know why I was there, but you’ve yet to explain to me why </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> were wandering around in a seedy part of town this late at night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve snickered. “You think </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a seedy part of town?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh forgive me, I’m sure this place is in a real full bloom in the daylight. Dries the piss and stink right up and turns it into a regular Champs-Elysées.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...was that sarcasm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, that was sarcasm.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And you still haven’t answered.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve looked down at the glass, rolling the remaining liquor around in the bottom and watching the way it clung gently to the sides. “I had a date.” Howard was shifting beside him, and suddenly his glass was being refilled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh. And… it didn’t go so hot?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, actually,” Steve said, his brows raised slightly. “It was going real swell for once. She was real nice. Real sweet to me, didn’t make me feel…. Ya know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm…” Howard said, filling his own glass before setting the decanter back down again. “No, I don’t think I do know. Enlighten me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve scoffed, taking another drink. “Of course </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t, look at you. I bet you’ve never had someone turn their nose up at you. Never been out of place in a room -- you walk into a crowd and you’re the center of attention. Just like him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cut off his own ramble by finishing his glass, but the moment he’d lowered it from his lips, the decanter was there, filling it again. “‘Him’ who?” he heard Howard ask. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bucky,” Steve said. Through the slowly thickening fog of inebriation, he felt a pang of guilt. “Hearing his name out loud… all I can see is how disappointed he looked when I left him there on the curb. And how worried he was that he couldn’t come with me.” The drink seemed to have loosened his tongue, and the image of Bucky’s eyes watching him go stung in a way that he was familiar with but never ready for. He didn’t realize he was speaking out loud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why didn’t he join you?” Howard’s voice was soft, no longer the boisterous man Steve’d joined earlier. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d think Stark sounded concerned. At the very least, he was invested in the story.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well someone had to stay with the gals,” Steve said. “I forgot my asthmadors and he didn’t bring any with him and I mean…” All at once he felt his mood darken and his lip curl. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he should have to cut a date short just cuz my lungs don’t work right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like he wanted to though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But he shouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to,” Steve snapped, before remembering himself and biting the inside of his cheek. “He gives up so much for me already. He works so many hours, breaks his back every damn day, doesn’t get an ounce of time to himself --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I dunno, he’s just got all these wild ideas about eatin’ food and living under a roof. Crazy thing, right? But he’s just nuts about that ‘living under a roof’ thing. Not gettin’ rained on -- Bananas, I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s hands came up placatingly. “Okay, okay, I get your point, I really do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  He comes home every damn night so dog tired I can barely get food in him before he passes out, and then the one chance he gets to relax, I ruin it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn’t really sound like you ruined it --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And it’s not like I can even pick up the slack! Every time I try, I hold down a job for  -- what? A month? Two? And then I’m sick as a dog again and all that extra income is going towards medicines or -- or doctors or something stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That doesn’t sound stupid. No one ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>chooses</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be a flawed design.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what tears it -- he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to live like this. He could be with his family, save all his money until he meets the gal he wants to settle down with and not have to…. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Struggle</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But he just chooses to </span>
  <em>
    <span>struggle</span>
  </em>
  <span>. All the time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard considered the question, taking another long drink. “Well… Not that I’m speaking from experience, but I’ve been </span>
  <em>
    <span>told </span>
  </em>
  <span>that love makes people do real stupid things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s eyes narrowed and he looked over at Howard suspiciously. Howard just held his gaze with deep brown eyes. His heart started pounding in his chest. His skin prickled with sudden anxiety. He’d said too much. “...What does ‘love’ have to do with anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s lip curled into a confused smirk. When he spoke, his tone was that of a tutor explaining a particularly simple problem to a particularly slow student. “Well… Not to put too fine a point on it, but it sounds like he’s sweet on ya.” From the corner of his eye, Steve saw Jarvis look up at the mirror again to watch them. “And if it’s getting you so worked up, then it sounds like you’re sweet on him too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve felt suddenly trapped. And more so than that, he felt exposed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seen</span>
  </em>
  <span>. By two strangers, while in an unfamiliar vehicle, driving an unfamiliar path. “N-no. No that’s not what I meant at all, we’re just -- he’s just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s a real ladies man, all the gals love him and --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard held up a hand to silence him. “As amusing as this little panic-ramble is, I’m gonna have to stop you right there. Denial's a river in Egypt kid, and this little part right here? Most boring chunk of the conversation. So let's skip ahead, I'll pretend I believe you, and you give it to me straight. You like this guy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s breath was coming in shallow gasps again, but this time it had nothing to do with asthma. He didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t know what the safe answer was. And as he glanced towards the front of the car, he saw Jarvis’ blue eyes on him in the sliver of mirror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re worried he’s judging you,” Howard observed. “He’s judged me since the day we met. I’ve survived and so will you.” Steve looked back at Howard helplessly. “Don’t think about him. But this Bucky guy. You like him, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve studied Howard, trying to determine if he was in danger, and if so, how severe. If he said ‘yes’, would he get hurt? Or worse, would Bucky get hurt? If he said ‘no’, would these men just assume he was lying anyhow? He felt an urge to run, but there was nowhere to run to. He felt the urge to fight, but somehow he didn’t think Stark was the type of man to exchange blows. His style of fighting would be one he’d never seen before. One he couldn’t prepare for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know how you want me to answer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard rolled his eyes dramatically. “God help me, you look like a terrified rabbit. No one’s gonna skin you, Bunny. I like to think the present company is a little more evolved than whatever hooligans you’re used to. Fine. Let me rephrase. If you were a dame, would you be dizzy for this guy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Steve answered before he could fully process the question. A hundred excuses leapt into his mind. Of course he’d be dizzy for him if he was a girl. Anyone in their right mind would be. He was James Barnes. He was handsome and smart and giving. Somehow he didn’t think any of those excuses would hold water here though. Steve stiffened with worry of what would come next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s better.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sky didn’t fall. Jarvis didn’t push a hidden button to eject him onto the street.  Howard didn’t suddenly whirl on him with a weapon specifically designed to punish men who loved outside of their lane. In fact, he seemed an odd mix of patient and amused. “Now for him. If everything was the same but you were a gal, or whatever societal nonsense it would take to move this narrative along -- would he like you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> so? Maybe? Can I have another drink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh absolutely.” Howard reached for the bottle again, filling Steve’s glass higher than before. As the blond greedily gulped, Howard tilted his head. “Well, give me more context. Does he flirt? Wait. Let me rephrase. Is there anything he does that could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>considered</span>
  </em>
  <span> flirting if we were in a position where you answering truthfully wouldn’t be accompanied by a look like you’re expecting me to turn you into a guinea pig for my next few experiments?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s eyes flitted to Jarvis again, but this time the man was focused on the road. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about him. Believe me, he’s seen far more exciting things than some guy all twisted up that he’s in love with another human being. Haven’t you, Jarvis?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed, sir. By comparison, this is a pleasantly uneventful Saturday evening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard laughed. “Yeah, and at least this time our esteemed guest and I both have our clothes on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For that, I am extremely grateful, Mr Stark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve knit his brow and glanced between the two, studying Stark. “Hang on. You’ve--?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard cut him off. “Look kid, you don’t get to </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> levels of greatness without being willing to explore </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> avenues.” With a disarming wink, he leaned back again. “So allow me to be your sherpa while we’re both nice and loose from the liquor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are… are you coming on to me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean I wasn’t, but -- I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Howard’s brows rose in amusement. Steve was flustered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no that’s --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to, far be it from me to say ‘no’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can -- can we get back to the original topic?” Steve asked, feeling his cheeks turn red and hot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard chuckled and nodded, grinning to himself. “Ah, and right when I thought the night was about to get real interesting.” He popped another cherry into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue. For a moment, Howard’s eyes looked distant, and when they turned back to Steve’s, there was an unfamiliar quietness there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I’m gonna level with you. Love is… awful. It’s awful. It pries open your chest and it rips open your heart until someone – it’s always </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- just crawls right in and makes a home there.” He rolled the cherry from one side of his mouth to the other. “There’s no way to guard against it. There’s no way to protect yourself from it, and the harder you try, the deeper their claws will sink. No, you gotta just… let it happen and hope the person who made your heart his home is a good tenant. That he’ll see that exposed wiring, those raw nerve endings of dysfunction, and you pray to God he doesn’t decide to start pulling the copper out of the walls. That the fire he lights warms your hearth instead of gutting you with its flames.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The quiet that followed was only accented by the soft hum of tires on pavement. Steve’s voice came as a breathy whisper. “...How do you know which it’ll be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s gaze was somewhere in the middle distance, and he slowly shook his head. Once. Twice. “You can’t. You just got to have faith. You gotta learn to watch for the signs. Good and bad alike…” He trailed off, and then with a deep breath and what appeared to be supreme effort, brought himself back to the present. The glass went to his lips and he became himself again. “So. What signs has he given you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I…Don’t know. Honestly…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rogers, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>gotta</span>
  </em>
  <span> meet me halfway here,” Howard whined. “Okay. So he works his ass off to provide for you. That could be a sign, or you could just be that pitiful.” Steve wrinkled his nose in annoyance. “With you, that’s a hard call. What else? He ever buy you things? Find reasons to touch you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s head was starting to swim a little, and he leaned back against the seat. “Maybe. I mean… he bought me these new shoes… And he’s always grabbing me or pullin’ me. Putting our heads together… He gave me half of his popsicle when I gave mine away.” Quietly, he drummed his fingers against his chin. “And… he’s always holding my hand. And talkin’ me up to other people. And sometimes he wakes me up when he has nightmares. Or when I have nightmares...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard nodded slowly. “That’s a lot of signs --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then there was that time he kissed me. That was an accident though,” Steve said quickly, starting to flush. The memory made warmth start to pool in the pit of his stomach. As did the  memory of his own kiss he had given him just that morning. But that was just his way of thanking him for such a sweet gift. “It doesn’t ya know… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything though, right? I don’t wanna just… assume.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard’s head was resting against the back of the seat, one knee up and his arm resting over it. His eyes were locked on Steve’s expectantly. Steve glanced around, but Howard simply waited. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What -- yes? What’s that look for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly Howard straightened up, taking another drink before he simply sighed. “After careful review of the data, his behavior could certainly be </span>
  <em>
    <span>interpreted</span>
  </em>
  <span> as flirtatious, even romantic at times, but it would just be pure arrogance to assume that his actions are authentic. You should gather more evidence. Forever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve huffed, or at least tried to. His skin was starting to feel a little numb in places. “Well what am I supposed to do? What if I’m wrong? Then I’ve just made things awkward for him and --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Rogers, you ran face first into the point and missed it anyhow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well what am I supposed to do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell him!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve scoffed. “And if I’m wrong? What if he kicks me out -- it’s not like I’m able to afford rent or nothin’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he kicks you out, I will eat my hat. Hell, I’ll eat </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> hat -- wait you don’t have one. I’ll eat </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jarvis’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>hat and then I’ll put you up myself. Big overdramatic baby. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tell him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but what if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> right and people find out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then be </span>
  <em>
    <span>smart</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it. There’s stupid and tellin’ the world, and there’s stupid and tellin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>no one</span>
  </em>
  <span>, including him. You gotta -- there’s a grey area in the middle. You gotta exist there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Howard for a long moment. Even through the haze of whiskey, the oddity of this entire evening hadn’t escaped him. “Why are you doing this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doing what?” Howard asked, his voice muffled by the glass he’d brought to his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This. Why are you being so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nice</span>
  </em>
  <span> to me? You don’t even know me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Howard shrugged, going for the bottle again to top them both off. “Why did you come so valiantly to my rescue?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve snorted softly, but considered the question. “...Because it was the right thing to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bah,” Howard scoffed, stretching out a little more fluidly on the seat. “I’ve never concerned myself over the ‘right thing to do.’ But…” He stared into the void of nothingness for a moment, lazily swirling his drink in its crystal. “When mind and strength have gone, gratitude and mutual tenderness still live on in the hearts of man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve pondered the words for a moment, taking another drink of the smooth, oaky liquor. “...Isn’t that HG Wells?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Howard barked abruptly, looking at him. “It’s Howard A. W. Stark.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that’s from </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Time Machine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Did you just quote </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Time Machine</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a flail that was both graceful and unrefined, Howard flung himself into a fully upright position, jabbing an accusing finger in Steve’s direction. “I quote nothing but myself!” Brown eyes shot towards the mirror where Jarvis was watching silently. Judging impassively. Steve saw the gears shift in Howard’s mind. “Wells was a fraud and a hack. He got all his best ideas from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve couldn’t hide the amusement on his face or the grin that was making his cheeks ache as Howard sulked into his glass again. “I’m pretty sure it was published in ‘95…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh he’s just so clever with that time machine, ain’t he?” Howard erupted again, only spurred on by Steve’s intoxicated giggling as he gestured wildly, somehow keeping the amber liquid mostly contained. “Clearly he came forward to get inspiration from Yours Truly, then went back in time to cover his tracks. It’s a conspiracy I tell ya.” He sank into the corner of his seat again, finding solace by growling into his alcohol. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve giggled again, shifting to sit sideways on the seat, his back pressed against the door and his shoulder into the back of the chair. “I don’t think it’s a conspiracy, Howard.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, what do you know? Can’t even tell when a guy’s sweet on ya…” Howard grumbled, resuming his relaxed posture, wriggling his shoulders into the leather to find the most comfortable position. “You’re going to tell him,” he decided aloud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay…” Steve finally said with a defeated sigh. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. And then you’re gonna tell me how it goes, cuz this is better than the serials.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve couldn’t help but grin at that, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Atta boy. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>first,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re gonna help me finish off this bottle we started. Jarvis, a few more laps if you would, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very good sir,” Jarvis replied, watching the two men in the mirror, before returning his attention to the road ahead</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Liquid Lunch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Steve leaned back to enjoy the breeze, his hand slipping off the rail again but it didn’t matter. The wind circled around him, enveloping him in a protective swirl that caught him around the waist and coaxed him onto his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful now, Master Rogers,” the wind urged, not for the first time. Steve loved it. He loved the way it sounded almost human. He loved the way the stairs dipped and swayed beneath his feet, dancing with him. He loved the black sky above them, dappled with grey clouds, and he was sure that somewhere up there stars twinkled like cut jewels or shattered glass. Like the bevels in Howard Stark’s expensive crystalware. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve loved that crystalware. He loved the company that came with it. He loved how easily the conversation seemed to flow, how smooth the laughter came the more they drove and the lower the level on the decanter dipped. He loved the hum of the tires, the way the road rumbled softly up his spine. He loved feeling like he didn’t have to hide himself, or worse, hold himself to a metric he had no hope of fulfilling. He loved the relief and the joy that followed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He especially loved the copious liquor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve leaned back again, certain that if he adjusted his angle just a little bit, just a tiny bit more, he could see those elusive stars. The world tipped to aid him, and again, something caught him around the waist to push him forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful, Master Rogers.” The wind sounded more urgent this time, and this time it continued to push him forward. “Just a few more steps young sir, and we can get you to your apartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly it began to dawn on him that maybe it wasn’t the wind after all. Maybe it was his new friend. He carefully climbed another step, then turned to investigate his suspicions. The movement was too quick, and again the world started to cartwheel. With the reflexes of an experienced hand, Edwin Jarvis caught him and kept him upright. Steve heard himself give a gleeful laugh as he realized who it had been behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Jarvis!” he eagerly observed, and Jarvis responded with a tightlipped smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Master Rogers,” Jarvis said again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You followed me!” Steve chirped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seemed like the most prudent course of action, yes,” Jarvis agreed. “Which door belongs to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a wonderful question. Steve turned and stumbled forward, up onto the landing to squint. There were doors, yes, though the question of which one seemed purely philosophical at this point. In his hand was something cool and metal, and he uncurled his fingers to examine it again. A key. “I have a key!” he announced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed, sir,” Jarvis said, his patience limitless. “And which door might it belong to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nodded determinedly, looking down the walkway again. It wasn’t the one right at the landing, that would be too easy. But there was another, just a little ways down. That one made far more sense. He marched towards it, listing to the side until his shoulder clipped the worn panelling. Steve felt Jarvis’ hand pull him straight upright again. With a mumble of thanks, he turned to look at the door and was struck with familiar recognition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is where Bucky lives!” he announced loudly, and Jarvis made a gentle shushing sound. Steve repeated himself at a stage whisper, although his volume hadn’t decreased and his voice had only become breathier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fascinating, sir. Might you unlock it so that we can…” Jarvis trailed off. Steve gave another determined nod and braced one hand on the doorframe, bringing the key to the metal puck. The tip scraped against the brass until it came to the slot. It didn’t slide in though, instead jamming at the entrance and he frowned. Steve carefully studied the key, before cramming it noisily at the hole to confirm his theory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s upside down!” he shouted, then glanced at Jarvis, realizing he was being too loud. “It’s upside down,” he shouted again, but softer this time.  With supreme effort, he turned the key over and slid it into the lock. Beaming at his success, Steve gave it a twist and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t budge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve frowned, bracing himself on the doorframe a little more solidly as he tried again. The key rattled, but the tumbler didn’t turn. “The key doesn’t work,” he said, pulling it fully out before slipping it back into the hole. “Buck, the key doesn’t work!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again Jarvis was shushing him, drawing him away from the frame, but now the world was swaying again, less pleasantly this time. “Perhaps we have the wrong door. Recite your address to me, let me -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door suddenly swung open, and Steve turned and beamed up at Bucky. Except Bucky looked… different. For starters, he was a lot shorter now, eyes level with Steve’s own. And he was dressed in a frilly nightgown in pale gingham, feet donning worn slippers that used to be white. He peered out at Steve with big, startled brown eyes magnified by thick lenses. Also, for some reason, Bucky was now an old woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buck, the key doesn’t work!” he announced again, holding it up for inspection. “It doesn’t work!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other doors were opening, the night air that had been so quiet and pleasant was quickly becoming thick with annoyed grumbles of awoken neighbors. Jarvis drew Steve backwards towards him. “Very sorry, madam. Apologies for waking you, truly sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve felt his back press into Jarvis’ chest and knit his brow, confused. “But my key doesn’t work!” he complained worriedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir, I suspect we have the wrong--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie?” The door a few yards ahead of them had opened, and Bucky stepped out of the doorway barefoot. He was wearing only his undershirt and shorts, his hair still full of pommade and sticking up in wide angles. “Oh my god, Stevie, where have you been?” he panted, then looked up, noticing Jarvis for the first time. He took a hesitant step back into the apartment, but reached for Steve’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bucky!” Steve yelped gleefully, pulling away from Jarvis and stumbling to his friend. “Bucky, I gotta tell you something!” he cried, still far too loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah -- Master Rogers, I know you promised to have this discussion, but I must insist--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bucky, I gotta tell you something!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky pulled Steve closer to him, examining him with a quick glance before shooting a suspicious look at Jarvis and the box under his arm. “You’ve got all night to tell me, Stevie,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Jarvis. “Who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh -- forgive me, Edwin Jarvis, butler to --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buck, I gotta tell you somethin’! Buck!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Rogers, I really must insist that it wait until morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Butler?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bucky asked incredulously. Steve bounced impatiently against him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buck! Buck! Buck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky acknowledged, glancing down and immediately wrinkling his nose. “Oh you smell like a brewery. Where the hell did you go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must apologize. Mister Rogers valiantly turned the tide on a spot of trouble my Master discovered, and the two found it fitting to celebrate--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your ‘master’?” Bucky asked, his nose still wrinkled and his lip curled. Steve hadn’t stopped vying for his attention, but now the chant of his name was at an acceptably low level. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologize, my employer has seen fit to--” From the direction of the street, a car horn shattered what was left of the silence and Jarvis closed his eyes for a long moment. “Well. That is unfortunately my cue. I hope to meet you again under more pleasant circumstances, Mister Barnes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pausing, Jarvis manipulated the wooden box out from under his arm and held it out to Bucky. Hesitating for a moment, Buck leaned out to take it, keeping one arm around Steve’s back as he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While he did not say so overtly, Master Stark would no doubt wish for him to have that. Please ensure he drinks plenty of water,” he finished, beginning to turn. Jarvis paused on his heel and nodded to Bucky. “And Godspeed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he straightened his hat, pivoted, and clipped back the way he came, moving down the wobbly staircase as he went to remove Howard’s access to the Jaguar’s horn. Bucky watched him go, looking down at the odd wooden box, before carefully maneuvering Steve back into the apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve wobbled backwards, grateful for the arm still around him as he was ushered into their home, the door closing behind him. “Buck. Buck, I gotta tell you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky paused for a moment, pressing his eye to the doorhole before breathing a sigh of relief. “God I was so worried about you. Where the hell were you, Steve? I thought you were dead in a ditch! I called the hospital, I called the police station, no one’d seen ya --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buck! Buck, I gotta tell ya somethin’!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-- and now you come home drunk as a skunk with some --” Bucky looked over his shoulder at the door again, then drew away to lock it after the fact. Steve groped at the space Bucky had vacated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buuuck…” he whined, waiting for him to return. And Bucky did, grasping at his shoulders, squeezing his arms, checking his joints. Not fully satisfied, Buck manipulated Steve backwards onto his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait here. That bluenose was right, you need water.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve watched Bucky leave again, and this time his wail was twice as insistent. With a dramatic huff, he hauled himself off of his own bed and across the short pass into Bucky’s instead. The pipes rattled loudly as the tap was opened, the pitch of the sound rising as the glass was filled. Steve didn’t want water. He wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky</span>
  </em>
  <span>, damn it, and he crawled under the blankets, a paperback clattering to the floor as he kicked it carelessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps approached, then stopped. “Oh yeah?” he heard Bucky ask, and Steve gasped as the blanket was pulled off of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buck!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve!” Bucky mimicked back. He had an expression like he desperately wanted to be angry but was simply too relieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have something to tell you!” Steve tried again, looking up at Bucky from the mattress and twisting himself like a cat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a lot of somethings to tell me. Drink this first.” The glass was pushed into his hands, and Steve struggled into a sit in order to gulp it down. Bucky sat beside him and grabbed at his ankle, pulling Steve’s leg closer to untie his laces and start undressing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buck,” Steve said between gulps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Steve.” Bucky tossed one of the shoes aside, starting on the second. Before he could finish, Steve was tapping him on the shoulder with the empty glass. He took it and rose, glancing back at him. “Tell me what happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve carefully started to undo his second shoe. “You bought me these!” he chirped happily. The relieved chuckle from the kitchen just made him smile wider. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Mhm. I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Buck, you know who that was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Been waiting for you to tell me, short stuff.” Bucky returned with another glass and Steve wrinkled his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not short,” he growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not tall, either,” Bucky observed. Steve squinted at this accusation, then simply nodded into his glass. He had something he needed to tell Bucky. Something important, but his thoughts felt slippery. Every time Steve felt his grip tighten around one, it squelched from between his fingers, leaving a swirl of vacated air and a pulse of a headache in its wake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve wrinkled his nose, trying to concentrate. He was getting pretty tired, and even holding the glass to his lips was proving difficult. What did he need to do again? There was something important he wanted to say, but what </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> it? Grumbling softly, he squirmed closer to Bucky until he was leaning against his shoulder. The warmth and comfort of his friend seemed to radiate into him and he just sighed, safe and peaceful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Did you have a good night, all things considered?” Bucky asked softly down to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve peered up, his vision blurred by the smudged glass. As he lowered it, he saw that affection in Bucky’s eyes, the redness of residual worry. The way he’d been fussing with his hair anxiously. Steve wondered if he’d been up all night, pacing with worry, watching the door, maybe even out the fire escape, hoping for any clue as to where he’d gone. He wondered how many times he’d gone down to the phone near the super’s office to call the hospital, hoping for an answer but praying to be let down. Guilt and something else swelled in Steve’s chest, and he looped his arm around Bucky’s, pressing his cheek to the meat of his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… Hey Buck?” he asked up softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky reached over to brush blond hair from his forehead. “Yes, Stevie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve closed his eyes to enjoy the touch of the fingertips, even if it meant the world began to rock like a ship at sea. “I think I’m in love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fingers paused, frozen in time against his skin, and he heard Bucky’s breathing stop. Steve slowly opened his eyes, struggling to focus on the other face. Where he’d hoped to see joy, there was surprise. In cheeks he’d expected to see the flush of affection, the color was rapidly fading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Oh yeah?” Bucky asked, and while his voice was still upbeat, there was a focused tightness now that wasn’t there before. He reached to take the empty glass away again, rising to refill. “After just one date, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s brows knit, tilting his head to one side, but the room tilted more eagerly than necessary, making his eyes swim. One date? But he and Buck had gone out together numerous times, with and without girls at their side. Steve snorted, sure Bucky was making a joke he just didn’t understand. Or maybe it was Buck who didn’t understand. “No -- no Buck, I’m in </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span>…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard you the first time, Stevie…” Bucky said, not looking up from the sink. His voice was quiet, and in his tone Steve thought he heard… grief. This made no sense. None of this made sense. The glass was full, but Bucky wasn’t moving, just staring at the liquid as the ripples played beneath the rim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Buck?” he asked softly, trying to follow, but his body felt too loose to cooperate and he fumbled like a fawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his question Bucky turned, his most well-practiced smile on his lips as he returned with the third glass. “I’m so happy for ya, Stevie. I knew it was just a matter of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...What?” But the new glass was pushed into his hands again and he obediently began to drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just - take it from me. Give it a few more dates before you say anything, okay? You don’t wanna scare her off. I mean… It’s only been one date.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky laughed. “Just trust me, you don’t wanna come on too strong, even with a quality dame like Vera. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> with a dame like Vera. Don’t worry though. I’ll help ya. I haven’t let you down before, right? Ain’t gonna start now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something was wrong, but there was a nagging pressure in Steve’s head and his mouth was filling with saliva. This wasn’t making sense. Why was Bucky talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vera</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Why did he look so sad and why did -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s stomach churned and he felt himself start to drool. Bucky’s expression changed almost instantly, taking the glass from him and hauling him off the bed with one arm around his waist and another under his armpit. Steve wasn’t sure his feet hit the ground at all before he was kneeling before the toilet, watered down liquor splashing the edges of the bowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned as his stomach heaved again, and regardless of how unpleasant the moment was, Bucky stayed beside him, rubbing his back gently until there was nothing left to come up. Steve’s chin rested on the rim and he panted, then laughed weakly. “I had popcorn today…” he announced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like that’s the only solid thing you had. Come on,” Bucky muttered, helping him lean back as he pulled the chain to flush. The world was spinning more enthusiastically than ever, and Steve grit his teeth as he tried to navigate his way upright. Suddenly the world cartwheeled again, and he felt his feet come off the ground. Grimacing, he closed his eyes and braced for impact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It never came. Slowly, he realized he was moving again, and that Bucky had scooped him up into his arms to carry him out of the bathroom. Steve leaned into the chest, groaning softly. “Buck, don’t let me go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna drop you,” Bucky mumbled, stepping over clothes and books as he picked his way back to their beds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No… No I mean… ever. Don’t ever let me go, Buck,” he whispered. He felt the other man pause then, glancing down at him. “Don’t ever let me go…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve could feel Bucky’s chest rise and fall as he took a deep, measured breath. Then he turned away from Steve’s bed in favor of his own. “I’m not gonna let you go, Stevie. Wild dogs couldn’t drag me away from you.” Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, then carefully shifted himself fully onto it, bringing Steve with him. Once settled, he stretched out and rolled Steve onto the mattress beside him, drawing the blanket back up over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise?” Steve whispered, feeling an unfamiliar surge in his chest. The drink had loosened him in ways he couldn’t predict or control. It felt like being delirious with fever, but it didn’t hurt. So many emotions at once, surging and swelling and breaking inside him, with no regard to propriety or rationality. At his question, he felt Bucky’s palm move to caress his cheek, pushing his blond hair off of his forehead again, and in response, his own breath hitched in an almost-sob.</span>
</p><p><span>“I promise…” Bucky said, pulling him close. Steve wove his fingers into Bucky’s undershirt, tucking his face under Buck’s chin and into the crook of his neck. “No matter what, I promise. No matter what girls come and go, no matter who tries to claim your heart, I will </span><em><span>always</span></em> <span>be your James Buck.” </span></p><p>
  <span>Steve felt the words vibrate against his skin. He felt the rise and fall of Bucky’s Adam’s apple as he spoke. He felt those strong arms around him, holding him close, and he felt one final wave rise in his heart before it crashed somewhere in his throat. Steve started to cry. Not because he was happy or sad, but simply because that was what his body needed to do in that moment. He hid his face in Bucky’s neck, pressing their bodies together. Protected by his embrace, he cried.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Faith</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The alarm bit through the peaceful silence and jerked Steve out of whatever dreams he had been having. A moment later, Steve’s head gave an annoyed throb, and he groaned as he felt Bucky shift to turn it off. There was a sensation that he should be surprised to find Bucky in his bed with him, but in reality, he was mildly amused by the absence of that surprise. Steve was less surprised to realize that it was actually he who was invading Bucky’s bed. The sun had yet to rise, but he was thirsty and his mouth tasted sour. His head throbbed again, and Steve had the feeling that he’d somehow dodged a much worse pain. Something had happened the night before, and ghosts of it flittered at the edges of his memory. It was starting to come back in flashes. Howard Stark. A confession that didn’t feel complete. Steve grunted and pressed the heel of his palm into his temple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky settled against him again, Steve’s forehead pressed to his sternum, breathing in the familiar scent of his shirt and of his body. It was Sunday, he realized, which meant a few things unique to this day. He rolled onto his back, feeling Bucky’s arm under his head as he did, and he took his time stretching out. His toes popped, then his ankles, his knees, and his hips. Steve stretched his shoulders, first one way, then the other, groaning softly and drawing his shoulder blades together as even something in his chest gave a pop. Bucky chuckled, his voice thick and groggy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sound like a bowl of rice krispies…” he murmured, deciding he was uncomfortable with the few inches of distance and dragging Steve’s limp form closer. Bucky buried his nose in Steve’s hair and breathed deep, as if trying to memorize his scent. “I could just eat you up…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s filter woke with the dawn, but on Sundays, Steve had to get up well before the sun. Which meant every Sunday, there was a solid quarter hour where Buck was all hands and paws and sweet words. At first, Steve had assumed he was simply still drunk from the night before, but eventually it became like clockwork. Sunday was a day of worship. And Bucky chose to worship in his own way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve grinned in the dark, looking out the window and thinking again about the stars that he was sure twinkled just out of view. He didn’t want to speak. Anything he said might break whatever bizarre spell came over Bucky during these pre-twilight hours, and he was content to let this magic play out. Buck dragged him closer again and he didn’t resist, letting himself be folded into the protective curl of Bucky’s body, into the warmth and affection. Both arms went around him, and he felt the rough cheek nuzzle into his neck and hair, before Bucky heaved a big, content sigh and just held him like a teddy bear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took all of Steve’s effort not to fall right back asleep. Instead, he kept squirming, stretching, willing his body to wake up without wiggling his way out of Bucky’s arms. Buck knew what he was doing and let out a low whine of protest. “Nooo…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm… gotta Buck… Gotta get ready for church…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm, nooo…” he whined again, pulling him closer and looping a leg over his hip. “Stay here today. You’re sick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve let out a bark of a laugh, raspy in the dark. “I’m not inviting that to be true.” After a moment, he shifted his head to try and see Buck’s outline. “You gonna come with me this week?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Buck’s voice lost all humor. Steve shifted to roll over and face him proper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” he coaxed softly, reaching to run his fingertips over that rough stubble. “Your ma’d love to see you… Don’t you wanna tell them that our date went swell this week?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Bucky repeated. “It’d just encourage her,” he grumbled, pulling Steve forward to hide his face against his chest. “And I don’t wanna think about the gals. I wanna think about you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Buck…” Steve said softly. This wasn’t an entirely new development, but he silently wished he understood what had happened. Earlier that year, as spring had been turning into summer, he’d ended up with a nasty case of bronchitis that kept him home one Sunday. Bucky had gone to church as usual, but when he came back that afternoon, something was wrong. Steve had tried to coax it out of him, to find out what had caused Bucky’s mood to become so very sour, but he was tired and weak and eventually had to give up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Between naps that day, he’d noticed that Bucky’s demeanor hadn’t changed. He’d been quiet, staring out the window or simply into the middle distance, deep in thought. The grim set of his jaw, the determined stare at nothing haunted Steve, even now. More than once he’d thought to draw it, as if through the act he could wheedle out Bucky’s secret, but the intensity of it made him uneasy. As if by putting it to paper, he would be making that darkness even more permanent. By that evening, Bucky had come to some private conclusion, and their Sunday routine had been changed ever since.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s alarm would go off. Bucky would crawl into his bed with him and draw him close, murmuring sweet things about the Sun and practically purring like an over-affectionate cat. Eventually, Steve would untangle himself and get ready for church, trying to change Bucky’s mind as he did. Bucky’s mind refused to change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first the new routine had been strange, even a little frightening. Then it became exhilarating. And now it was Steve’s favorite part of the entire week. He’d been certain a month ago when the old pastor left and a new one replaced him that Bucky would be willing to come back to service. But he’d been wrong. And now Buck’s arms were tight around him, as if certain if he made getting up annoying enough, Steve would forgo church entirely and lay with him the rest of the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Buck, lemme up…” Steve murmured softly. Bucky gave a growl of protest. “Buck, I gotta pee. Lemme up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a moment where Steve wasn’t certain if Bucky would even let him go for such a legitimate reason, but with a resigned sigh, his friend drew away. Steve ran his hand through Bucky’s hair as he got up to take care of business and begin dressing. Soon the sun was starting to peek through the window, and Bucky continued to stay sprawled in bed, tangled in the blankets. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re sure I can’t convince you?” Steve tried one more time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope,” Bucky said, shifting to better watch the blond. Steve sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll get to sing with me. You like singing…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like listening to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> sing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Steve said, his fingers working the buttons. “You’ll get to listen to me sing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or you can stay home and sing with me all morning,” came the counter offer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One of us has to make good with God, ya heathen,” Steve teased, but that dark look came back into Bucky’s eyes and he wondered if it was the wrong thing to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Buck’s tone was grim again. “Hey Stevie? Be careful, will ya? Don’t go getting into strange men’s cars anymore, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve snickered as he pulled on his jacket and straightened his tie. “Yeah, Buck, I suppose. Just for you though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Appreciate it,” Bucky murmured, settling in to go back to sleep. “See you in a bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quietly, Steve closed the door behind him and started his trek to the church. When he was young, he used to go to mass with his mother every week. He could still remember the guttural thrum of the pipe organs, the deep rumble that resonated in his chest. Steve was smaller than the other boys in the choir, but his voice was high and pristine. Sarah said he moved her to tears when she heard him. It was the best reason to go to church, to know that she loved it so much. The altar robes were always freshly starched; he could feel their weight on his shoulders and could smell the crisp cotton in his nose. He could see his mother's eyes, wet with joy. Her cheeks rosy and bright. The weight of the hymnal in his hands felt so right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But after she’d died, he couldn’t bring himself to sing anymore. He hadn’t set foot in that church since her funeral service, though eventually Bucky had coaxed him to start coming to church with his family instead. Bucky had liked to sing, and subscribed to the school of ‘if you can’t sing good, sing loud’. Eventually, Steve had found his voice again, and he still remembered the ecstatic glow on Bucky’s face when he sang for the first time since her death. There was victory and pride there, and his smile was like a balm to Steve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So what had happened? What had gone so wrong that Bucky wouldn’t even go with him anymore? It was on these thoughts that Steve heard his name, looking up to find the source. Becca was waving him over near the steps of the church, and he glanced both ways before jogging across the street to join her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pleasantries were brief, cut off by Becca’s aggressive affection as she threw her arms around Steve’s neck. Though Steve was older than her, she was rapidly catching up in size, and he had to plant his back foot to keep them both upright. Her pretty blue dress swirled like mist before settling back down around her again. Loosening her grip, Becca looked around, even peeking behind Steve as if he were hiding something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No Buck?” she asked. Steve frowned and shook his head, giving her the answer she already knew. Her lips pursed in a thin line and she glanced back at her parents. Winnie was wearing her favorite church dress, dark red with white flowers and white ribbon trim. George was in his usual dark suit, chuckling as they spoke to their own friends, puffing on the stem of his pipe. “...That’s too bad,” Becca murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve dropped his voice to a hushed tone. It wasn’t worried, but something adjacent to worry. “Do you know what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Becca’s head snapped to him so quickly that her fluffy curls bounced and the white and blue hairband threatened to dislodge itself. “He hasn’t told you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve suddenly felt as if he should have pushed Bucky harder. As if he had been meant to dig, but instead had simply stood on the edge of the hole Bucky had been happy to bury himself in. He shook his head, aware of how lame and ineffective the motion felt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Becca glanced again, conspiratorially. “I thought for sure he would have told you…” she murmured, before looking back at him. “I don’t… remember exactly how it happened. But there was a sermon and… Well, I guess he went after the service to talk to the pastor. I guess he wanted clarification. When he came back he looked like he’d been slapped in the face. Startled. And angry. He said --” She glanced around one more time, as if wary of spies. “He said that if God didn’t have a place for him, then he didn’t have a place for God.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A cold chill ran through Steve. What the hell had he missed? And why had he waited so long to press? All this time, he’d thought that perhaps this was Bucky’s rebellion against missing out on his threadbare personal time. Maybe it was his way of lashing out against blind dates when it’d be easier to spend the day sleeping. But to think that it was something more serious and he hadn’t thought to pry? Steve could feel his heart in his throat, threatening to choke him as he tried to swallow it down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Becca, what was the sermon about?” Becca looked at him apprehensively and didn’t answer. Steve pushed again. “Becca, what was --”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stevie!” Winnie cried, and his anger was dashed like a flock of startled pigeons. She gathered him into her arms, and he scrambled to return the affection even as he was squished against her bosom. She smelled of clean powder and vanilla and something he couldn’t place. But as he regained himself, the pigeons began to stubbornly return, one by one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How was your date, sweetheart?” Winnie asked, looking down at him with those fathomless blue eyes. She hadn’t asked about Bucky’s whereabouts. That knowledge didn’t escape Steve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was good, real good. Vera’s real sweet,” Steve said, almost dismissively. He’d almost forgotten about the date. “Ma, what was the sermon about the last time Buck came to church?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winnie’s brows rose, her eyes surprised. Behind her, Steve noticed that George’s conversation had lulled. But Steve didn’t take his eyes off of Winifred. He stared at her, his jaw set with worry and concern and a steely determination. She knew what had happened. And he may have failed to resolve the issue in the moment, but that was an error he was going to fix </span>
  <em>
    <span>today</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now, if possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winnie studied him, recognizing that the boy she considered her second son was many things, with ‘stubborn’ being chief among them. Steve could stare a stone angel into moving if properly motivated. So she sighed and relented, her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go talk, sweetheart,” Winnie said gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She led Steve down the stairs, around the corner to where the small garden stood mostly empty. Most of the churchgoers had congregated on the main steps or had begun filtering into the Sanctuary. Out here, they could speak in relative private. Steve stared at her, his golden brows knit in concern as she looked up at the cloud-dappled sky to consider her words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve…” Winnie began, and for a moment he felt a pang of distrust towards the gentleness of her tone. But this was Winifred Barnes, the woman who had loved him like a second mother. The woman who had taken care of him when he was sick, and Sarah when she had fallen ill. Winifred was his biggest advocate, even when he himself wasn’t so sure of what he was capable of. Steve loved her, although he didn’t know why. Winnie loved him, and she didn’t care why. Still, the delicate way she broached the subject made the fine hairs along the back of his neck rise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steve…” Winnie said again, as if still hunting for words written in the clouds. Finally, she turned to him, reaching to take one of his hands in both of her own. “As you get older, there are going to be people who will want to tell you how your life should be lived. They are going to try to tell you about matters of the heart as if they know the concrete fact of it. Or worse, as if they know what the Divine Father truly wants for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, looking into her oceanic eyes as she continued. “And the truth is…” Winnie said, “they don’t. No one can tell you what is right or what is wrong. No one can tell another person the truths of a heart that isn’t beating in their own chest. No one can tell you God’s message for you but </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Do you understand?” Winnie asked gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve didn’t. But he understood that ignorance could no longer be an option. It felt safer, of course, to turn a blind eye to the things that confused or frightened him. To write off the rapid beating of his heart to just one of his many physical flaws instead of something more poignant and meaningful. He felt his breath start to catch in his throat. “...So… Bucky lo--” The word made his chest hitch and his tongue freeze. Steve tried again. “So.. So Bucky </span>
  <em>
    <span>cares about</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone… and the old pastor told him it was wrong?” he asked, studying her eyes as he hunted for clarification.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winnie’s smile was sad, her eyes sadder. Steve felt his throat go dry, and a confusing mix of emotions rose in him, each battling with the other. Anger on Bucky’s behalf. Sadness. Frustration. Confusion. “I don’t… I don’t understand. I thought we were supposed to love everyone. So why is it suddenly wrong for him to love someone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a fair question,” came the voice from behind them. A low, deep, familiar rumble. The scent of pipe smoke lingered on George Barnes as he came to join his wife and Steve. “But you’re asking it of an unfair world. There is a whole lot of good in you, Steven. And there’s a whole lot of good in Bucky. I should know, I made him.” George offered a soft chuckle, but Steve wasn’t feeling in a chuckling mood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George let his smile fall when it wasn’t reciprocated by the little blond. Instead, he continued, “Some folks like to take the wrapper off of Love and use it to repackage Hate. It’s your job to watch for them and always be wary. They can hide where you least expect it. Even in places you’d think would be safe from them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No one</span>
  </em>
  <span> can tell you if your love is right or wrong. Only your heart can tell you that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve looked up at George, then looked away to consider his words. Beside him, Steve felt Winnie put her gentle arm around his shoulders. He leaned into her comforting embrace, both soft and strong in unison. “...This person that Bucky loves…” Steve began, his voice barely above a whisper. “...Is it me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something softened across George’s features and he turned to snuff his pipe. Winnie drew Steve closer, pressing a kiss into his temple. It wasn’t an answer. But at the same time, it decidedly was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve didn’t recognize the emotion that washed over him. A hybrid of elation and dread swelled in tandem behind his ribs. Dread of what this meant for their mutual future. Elation at what the future could suddenly hold. His breath caught again. “...But… But what --” Steve swallowed thickly. “What will happen if he -- if </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> -- what would happen if we --” Steve couldn’t get his words to form, but Winnie was drawing him to her bosom, kissing his hair and caressing his cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cupped his face in both hands, tilting his head up to look at her. Steve felt acutely aware of her husband a few paces behind him. “You will be what you will be, my little love,” Winnie said gently, her warm eyes holding his bright blue gaze. “And we will all learn to be okay with whatever that happens to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winnie released him gently, and he ducked his head to hide it against the protection of her chest. Arms looping around him, Steve clung to her dress, trying to process everything that had just happened. It was so much. It felt like so much all at once. In the cool morning air, the church bells began to toll, and George murmured for them to move inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, Winnie dislodged him, and the small family moved to rejoin Becca for their service. Steve knew already that he wouldn’t be able to focus, regardless of the week’s message. There was something important he needed to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something he needed to tell Bucky. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Red Daisies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve stared at the display, paralyzed by choice. He tapped his fingers against his chin and let his gaze drift back to the first basket to start all over again. Roses would be traditional, but they didn’t feel right for what he wanted to do to. What he wanted to say. Plus they were pretty expensive. The white lilies were pretty, but they reminded him of a funeral. Then of course there were the less standard choices. Purple iris, yellow tulips, carnations of every shade and color. It made him want to paint. </p><p>Steve shook his head. Focus. He was here for a very specific reason. But the longer he stared, the more he started second guessing himself. Slowly his eyes drifted over to a single basket, and not for the first time. Red daisies stood boldly out against the pale tan wicker. Their petals were wild and a little ragged looking when compared to the velvety softness of lilies and roses. Their cores stood out like vibrant yellow suns, in defiance of the overcast of the day. As if proclaiming that if the sun would not shine, then they would gladly shoulder the burden.</p><p>It made him smile, ever so softly. Even as he gazed at them, his mind wandered. Years ago, when the chill of winter had finally broken along with the fever that came along with it, Bucky had taken him out for an adventure. They’d packed sandwiches and jar of jam into their knapsacks and taken off to explore. Along the train tracks, then taking off on their own through the tall grass and pricker bushes, they’d found themselves along the bank of a river. Away from the bustle of the city, it felt like they were the only people in the entire world. Like they had this little patch of wilderness all to themselves.</p><p>Bucky had laid out a blanket for them, and they’d spent the afternoon throwing rocks into the water, trying to catch bugs and frogs, talking about comics and wild adventures and eventually girls. </p><p>Steve had been the one to broach the subject. After all, the other boys at school had started to notice girls and it seemed like it was only natural that they should too. Though he hadn’t really understood the appeal, let alone the obsession and if he was being honest, he still didn’t to this day. On the few instances he had shown interest, that interest was quickly and efficiently snubbed. But back then, it was still new and confusing and a little exciting. He remembered how Bucky’s cheeks had started to get that high pink blush to them. The way he kept looking at Steve, longer and longer each time, as if Bucky was focused on his own secret topic he wasn’t ready to share just yet.</p><p>After their shared lunch, Steve had laid on his back and stared up at the passing clouds. The sky seemed so impossibly blue that day, and they picked out shapes in the bright white fluffballs. Unexpectedly, Bucky rose and wandered towards the overgrowth. At the time, Steve hadn’t thought anything of it. The day was pleasantly warm, the air was sweet, and the lap of the water on the rocks was making him feel relaxed and a little bit drowsy. When Buck came back, flopping into a cross-legged sit and barely missing landing right on top of him, Steve had looked up with familiar affection.</p><p>“I got a new game for us, Stevie,” Bucky had said cheerfully. There was something behind his back and Steve narrowed his eyes, fully expecting a frog or a minnow to be tossed at him any moment now. </p><p>“What’s that, Buck?” Steve had asked, cautiously. </p><p>“You’re a prince, Stevie. And I’m your valiant knight. And I’m gonna protect you forever.”</p><p>Even now, Steve felt the familiar surge of affection for Bucky. One that had only grown stronger from that day. “Forever’s a long time, Buck.” Steve had said, though he was smiling.</p><p>“Yeah, but together it won’t ever feel long enough. From cradle to grave. Til the end of the line.” Buck had said with such conviction, with such hopeless, doomed devotion that Steve had no inkling Bucky could possibly be wrong. </p><p>“Til the end of the line,” Steve had agreed. And how Bucky had beamed at that. </p><p>“Well if you’re gonna be a prince,” Bucky had said, with a self-satisfied coyness to his voice. “You gotta have a crown.” From behind his back, he drew a small circlet woven from wildflowers. Red blooms and blue forgetmetnots, speckled with pale white clover. The red flowers looked almost like daisies, their little petals forked at the tips, giving them a tattered and worn look. Perfectly imperfect. Just like Bucky saw him. </p><p>Bucky had leaned forward, resting the circlet against his blond crown and studied him with a softness Steve had never seen before. In the years since though, he’d grown familiar with that softness and warmth, that gaze that could smooth his sharp edges and warm even bone-deep chill. </p><p>“Ya know,” Bucky had said, scooting a little closer to him on the blanket. “If we’re gonna start takin’ girls out on dates and stuff, we should probably practice kissin’. Ya know. To make sure we’re doin’ it right.” Bucky’d said, looking at Steve through those thick black lashes. At the time, Steve couldn’t help but think of how Bucky always seemed to think of everything. </p><p>“You gonna buy something or you just going to gawk all day? I know they’re pretty, but you’re using up all the good smells, kid.” </p><p>Steve startled when the florist spoke, but he laughed and murmured out an apology. The man’s eyes glanced down at the bundle in his arms, a small box of the best chocolates he could afford, the newest Action Comics, and a small jar of the sweet lemon drops Bucky liked so much. “You got a date?” The florist asked, pleasantly enough. </p><p>Steve paused and nodded. “Something like that… I’ll take a dozen of those,” he said, nodding towards the red daisies and pulling out what was left of his coins. Taking the offered bundle, he drew a deep breath, and finished the journey home.</p><p>This time there were no dramatics trying to get into his apartment. He went to the correct door on the first try, the key slid into the lock and the tumbler turned as it was meant to. As he pushed it open, he was greeted with the smell of cooking food, and saw Bucky standing in the kitchen frying up potatoes for his breakfast, donning only his shorts and undershirt. Bucky’s hair was still standing out at wild angles, an unruly curl falling across his forehead.</p><p>“Is that for me?” Steve asked, pushing the door closed behind him and pulling off his shoes. Already his heart was slamming in his chest. This was it. In a few moments, he’d have to tell Bucky everything. And he hoped, he <em> prayed </em> that his suspicions, that what he’d been assured were correct. There was so much at stake here. So much that could go so very wrong. Steve could end up taking up Howard Stark’s offer to sleep on his couch. If this went wrong, his world would collapse around him. But if it didn’t…</p><p>But if it <em> didn’t </em>…</p><p>“If you want it,” Bucky offered, not looking up. </p><p>Steve nodded, slowly moving to their little table to set down and reorganize his purchases. “You… gonna ask me how church went?” He asked, glancing over at Bucky.</p><p>Bucky paused at the stove, still not looking over. Then he slowly started to push the potatoes around a little more aggressively. “...I could. How was church, Stevie?” Bucky asked, but his tone hinted he’d prefer the story be kept short. </p><p>“Well,” Steve said, carefully laying the comic on the table, holding the flowers with both hands. The chocolates and lemon drops suddenly felt like overkill. But it was too late now. “I talked to your parents. Had a real good conversation, actually. And… Buck. There’s somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”</p><p>Bucky turned his head to glance at him, then did a double take when he noticed the flowers. Steve’s brows rose hopefully, but Bucky’s expression just darkened. “...You got a date there, Stevie?”</p><p>That wasn’t the expression Steve had been hoping for, and it made him falter. “Somethin’ like that. At least, that’s what I’m hoping, Buck.” Steve said over the tops of the flowers. He could smell their faint perfume drifting under his chin. </p><p>But Bucky’s jaw just set stubbornly and he dropped the wooden spoon into the pan with a clatter, glowering at Steve. “I’m sure Vera’s gonna be real happy.” He moved the pan off the heat and turned to stalk towards the bathroom, attempting to shove his hands into non-existent pockets, missing and instead going to cross his arms across his chest. </p><p>That wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all. “What? Buck - Buck come back.” But the bathroom door was closing with a loud thump and Steve’s voice was an octave higher when he called after him again. “Buck!”</p><p>“I gotta take a leak, lemme alone Steve,” Bucky snapped through the door, uncharacteristically abrupt. Steve scoffed. They didn’t always close the bathroom door to relieve themselves, especially if doing so would disrupt their conversation. So why start now?</p><p>“James Buck, open this damn door. Why are you acting so foolish right now?”</p><p>“Foolish?? How is wanting to piss suddenly foolish?”</p><p>“That’s not what you’re doing, don’t lie to me, <em> James </em>. These walls are damn thin.”</p><p>“They ain’t that thin, I’m peein’ softly.”</p><p>Okay, enough was enough. Steve grabbed the knob and pushed it open. As expected, it bumped into Bucky’s back where he was hunched over the sink, glowering into the mirror. “You peein’ softly into the cabinet, Buck? Toilet’s about two feet to your left.”</p><p>Icy blue eyes met those of Steve’s reflection. Bucky’s face was as sour as Steve’d ever seen it. And that wasn’t what he’d wanted at all. That was not how this day was supposed to go. And Steve felt the tight fire of stubborn, righteous frustration rise in him. “</p><p>“Ya know, Buck, you gonna keep jumping to conclusions like this you’re gonna hop your way all the way to Connecticut,” Steve snapped right back. </p><p>Bucky stared at him through the mirror, but the comment broke something and some of the tension left his face. Slowly he turned around, leaning his hips back against the sink to stare at Steve. “...I’m jumping to conclusions, am I?” Bucky asked, tilting his head to one side, as if challenging Steve.</p><p>“Who the hell do you think these are for, you idiot?” Steve snapped. No, no this wasn’t going the way he’d envisioned it at all. The question caused Bucky to falter though, and Steve saw an abrupt uncertainty come across his features as he started to reconsider his initial reaction.</p><p>“...Vera?” Bucky asked, almost sheepishly.</p><p>“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve said in exasperation. “What the hell am I gonna do with you?” He demanded. </p><p>“...Then who are they-”</p><p>“You, stupid!” Steve wasn’t sure if that reeling expression on Bucky’s face was from the insult or the information. Steve felt guilty. This wasn’t how he wanted it to go. This wasn’t at all how he wanted it to go, but here they were, Steve cornering Bucky in the bathroom, actively calling him out on his lack of authentic bathroom usage and very honestly considering beating the life out of him with a bouquet of daisies. </p><p>Bucky squinted as if trying to puzzle out what he was hearing. “They’re… For me?”</p><p>“Buck,” Steve gasped. “Buck. Last night when I was out with Stark -”</p><p>“Still don’t believe that actually happened, by the way.”</p><p>“<em>Shut up and listen to me. </em> Last night I realized something. I spend so much time worrying about gals and thinking about how I’m never gonna be good enough for them. So much time, so much energy, chasing after something <em> I don’t even want </em> , Buck. Chasing something that doesn’t want <em> me. </em> And for what? So I can… fit into the narrative of someone I don’t even know? Who doesn’t even know me?”</p><p>“Steve,” Bucky said softly, gently. “That ain’t true, lots of people want you-” Steve cut him off again.</p><p>“Buck, I need you to shut your beautiful mouth <em> right this instant </em> and just let me finish,” Steve snapped. He brought up his hand in a helpless gesture, then let it fall to his side. “If I don’t say it now, I’m never gonna say it. And I’m gonna hate myself the rest of my life.” Steve drew in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. </p><p>“Bucky… I’m sorry it took me so long to realize this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so blind and I’m sorry I kept pushing my feelings down, pushing you away. I didn’t… think… that I was something someone like you could possibly want. I couldn’t even fathom that how every time I looked at you and my heart leapt into my throat… Maybe you were feelin’ the same way too.” Steve felt his eyes burn, but he refused to look away from Bucky. Beautiful Bucky with his shy, confused expression, blue eyes looking out from under his messy black locks. Sweet, tender Bucky, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at Steve as if expecting this all to go suddenly, abruptly south.</p><p>“Bucky… I love you. I <em> love </em> you and… And I know why you don’t go to church anymore.” Bucky looked away at that, but Steve pressed on. “I know what the preacher said and he was wrong. Your ma said he was wrong, your dad said he was wrong.” Icy eyes shot up to meet his again narrowing questioningly. “I <em> love </em> you, and love can’t be wrong… I can’t hide from that anymore. I can’t be blind to it. I can’t be ignorant to it. Because I love you and… and I hope you love me too.”</p><p>Now it was Steve’s turn to look away, his breath trembling in his throat as he clutched the bouquet of daisies before him like a shield. “I <em> hope </em> you love me too… And if you don’t - if you don’t, that’s okay too. But… But I -” </p><p>It was motion from the corner of Steve’s eye that caught his attention. Bucky was moving towards him suddenly, with such conviction and such intensity in his eyes that Steve startled. Bucky didn’t slow as their bodies connected, broad hands moving to Steve’s sides and pushing him backwards, flowers and all, to push him into the wall. Steve made a noise in his throat like a sound of protest, or maybe just surprise, but Bucky’s mouth was against him, swallowing every sound. Steve’s arms went around his shoulders, clutching the stems of the daisies as the red petals broke free and rained down on them. </p><p>Bucky broke the kiss, drawing back just enough to stare into Steve’s eyes, questioning him silently. In response, Steve pushed forward to kiss him again. Teeth clicked together, lips bruising and tingling, parting to allow fumbling tongues against each other. Steve drew back after a moment, gulping in breaths of air.</p><p>“I love you,” Steve panted. “I’ve loved you for so long and I don’t know why.”</p><p>It was Bucky’s turn to press against him, kissing him as if he made to devour his soul, take away every doubt, burn away every question with the force of his love. “I love you,” he breathed in response. “And I don’t care why.”</p><p>Steve’s hands tangled in Bucky’s hair, dizzy  and drunk on these new revelations. “I bought you flowers,” he panted.</p><p>Bucky was smiling that bright smile that made his eyes light up like the moon in winter. “I see that now.”</p><p>“I also bought you chocolate,” Steve said, and Bucky chuckled softly. “...And lemon drops.”</p><p>The chuckled deepened, Bucky’s nose moving to nuzzle against his cheek. “You didn’t have to do that-”</p><p>“And a new comic book,” Steve’s words were cut off by the rough hand moving over his mouth delicately. Bucky smiled, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together.</p><p>“That’s very sweet… But all I want is you… All I’ve <em> ever </em> wanted… is <em> you </em>,” Bucky said softly. </p><p>“Forever?” Steve whispered when the palm started to lower. He leaned forward, aching for just one more kiss. And one more. And one more after that. Bucky was more than happy to oblige.</p><p>“Forever… Til the end of the line, Stevie.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well we've done it. There's still a lot of places I can go with this story, now that our dumb boys have finally figured out how they feel about each other. If you enjoy this and are interested in more, please let me know. I'd really love to follow them fumbling through the ins and outs of a relationship, with Howard Stark randomly appearing to make things worse.</p><p>I love you all. Thank you so much for reading!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for reading my story! There are 10 chapters, and this will be updating daily until completion. A very special thanks to my betas and my artists @bicappytweets and @espressosaur, as well as the entire #NASBB mod team for making this possible. </p>
<p>I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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